


Shattered

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Faked Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, major angst, serious injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 85,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate to keep Hannibal and his team safe, Face fakes his own death after being seriously injured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ocean_blue15 at ATeam-Prompts:
> 
> Face is seriously injured so badly in fact that it results in some kind of permenant disability. He will never be fit to work in the army (or as a fugitive fighting for justice) again and somehow he stages his own death or makes it look like he died of his injuries.
> 
> He could have help from someone else, maybe Morrison if whilst in the army or Sosa or anyone else.
> 
> He wants to team to move on without him as he can not stand the thought of being a burden and wants them to be happy.
> 
> When Hannibal eventually finds out - what does he do? Is he the first one to discover the truth?

He looked surprisingly small, dwarfed by monitors and equipment, lying flat and still in his hospital bed. Sosa stopped at the threshold of his room, one hand on the door frame to keep herself upright. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t be upset or surprised when she saw him again, saw him for the first time in nearly two whole years. But seeing him like this…

God, it shouldn’t hurt so much to see him again. She knew his condition, of course, having talked repeatedly with his doctors over the phone while she made the long flight across country to get to his side. He’d asked for her, they said, one time in between operations, when the sedatives had been lowered in order to get some idea of the level of pain he was in. They’d sedated him again very quickly, apparently. 

But one of the MPs in the room with him at all times had heard her name, recognised her as one of those originally involved in the search for the A Team, back in those early days when they had broken out of custody for the second time. He hadn’t known of her previous relationship with this man, hadn’t known how he had gone down on one knee before her, offered her a ring. Hadn’t known how she had broken his heart and left him behind for her career.

And now, she stood in the doorway, unable to make her feet move any further into the room. The uniformed guard in the far corner of the ICU room had barely glanced at her, clearly seeing she was no threat, and she had barely glanced at him, her eyes locked instead on the pale, still figure in the bed. He was bare-chested, wires attached to monitor his heart and breathing, and Sosa could see all too clearly the deep bruising across his ribs, wincing as she saw the chest-tube still in place on his right side. A collapsed lung, the doctors had told her over the phone, as well as several broken ribs from the impact, but a quick glance at his face showed he was breathing by himself at least, with the aid of an oxygen cannula slipped into his nostrils, the thin tubes snaking away behind his ears.

His lower body was concealed by a thin hospital blanket, though it was clearly raised slightly over his right leg. She knew, beneath the covers, he was in plaster from ankle to hip, the bones broken in two places and his knee dislocated, though she couldn’t help seeing a grim sense of humour at work, in the fact that they had bothered to pin it back together at all, despite his other, more serious injuries.

Other than that, apart from a few bruises, he hadn’t changed at all, still as handsome as he ever was, all muscular chest and broad shoulders. Sosa forced herself to take a deep breath, then another, and then a third, before she finally managed to step across the threshold. After that first step the rest came easily, and then she was by his side, aware of the way the guard’s attention suddenly focussed on her more intently. Careful of the trailing IV lines in his arm, and the oxygen monitor clipped on his index finger, she wrapped her fingers gently around his, frowning at how cold he felt. She stretched her other hand up to trail across his forehead, brushing back a stray curl which lay limp and lifeless on his pale skin. 

Those brilliant blue eyes she always loved so much were closed, now, his face pained even in sleep, but she barely hesitated before leaning down closer to his ear, whispering, “Face? Honey, are you awake?”

No response, of course, and she hadn’t expected one, not really. Not even a twitch of an eyelid to show any sign of awareness. From the corner of the room, the guard spoke up, his voice seeming too loud over the steady beep of the heart monitor and the gentle hiss of oxygen. “He hasn’t been awake all day, Ma’am. The doctors are keeping him asleep a little longer. He had a rough time going through the last operation.”

“The last operation?” she asked, still unable to tear her eyes away from his face. He was so pale.

“On his back, Ma’am,” the guard continued. “Apparently, there were some complications.”

Complications. How Sosa hated that word, in any context. She cleared her throat, standing a little taller, trying to get herself under control. “When is the doctor due back, Corporal – ?” 

“Manning, Ma’am. Probably another ten, fifteen minutes or so. They’re keeping regular checks on him.”

Something caught her eye, something cold and metallic, wrapped around each of his wrists. He had been cuffed to the bed, she saw, and she lifted the blankets to see a similar cuff around his uninjured left ankle. Anger started to burn deep inside, and that was an easier emotion to deal with than this terrible worry over his condition. “Are those really necessary, Corporal Manning?” It felt wrong to raise her voice in this quiet sick-room, but her sheer disbelief at the heartlessness of the action took over.

The young soldier had the decency to look a little ashamed. “The Colonel’s orders, Ma’am. The Lieutenant is under arrest and therefore needs to be restrained.”

“He’s unconscious!” she gasped, squeezing those cold fingers a little tighter. “His leg is shattered, not to mention – ”

An unexpected voice spun her part-way around from his bedside. “They were my orders, Captain Sosa, and he will remain in restraints until such time as he can be moved to the proper detention facility.” 

Sosa recognised Colonel Roderick Decker immediately, of course, having served under the man for a few months when he had taken over the hunt for the escaped men. He was shorter than her by a few inches, deceptively slender and unimposing until he spoke. Like Hannibal Smith, Decker had an air of command about him that didn’t invite arguments, and right now his square jaw was jutted out, his dark brown eyes glinting dangerously in the harsh overhead lighting as he stood in the doorway, much as Sosa herself had only a few minutes earlier. 

There was no air of concern or surprise on his face, though, and he tugged down on his uniform jacket to straighten it before stepping into the room, sparing only a glance at the man in the bed before focussing that intent gaze back on her. He seemed to be waiting for something, for her to do something, perhaps, and eventually she gave in to the urge to stand a little more at attention.

“Colonel, Sir,” she acknowledged with a brief nod, fighting the urge to salute. That would involve letting go of Face’s hand, and she wasn’t quite prepared to do that just yet, feeling she had to be the one to protect him as best she could, since his team weren’t there. Since Hannibal wasn’t there.

“Good of you to make the trip, Captain.” Decker folded his arms across his narrow chest, tilting his head to one side as he looked her up and down. “Wanted to see for yourself that we actually got one of them?”

“’Got’ one of them?” Sosa repeated, feeling that anger rise back in her throat, trying to swallow it down in case he threw her out of the room. She gestured down at Face’s limp form. “With all due respect, Sir, I didn’t think this was exactly what you were aiming at.”

“No, indeed. Though you can’t deny it has been effective.” Decker held up one hand as she started to speak, ploughing on quickly, his voice a little louder now. “The driver responsible has been reprimanded, believe me.” 

“And the two children?” She didn’t know much about them, only that Face tried to get them out of the way of a military jeep driving at high speed. She didn’t know why they were there, didn’t know why the hell the driver didn’t see them. Didn’t know why he ploughed straight into Face, sending him flying through the air, only to crash down onto hard, unforgiving concrete. “Are they okay?”

“He saved their lives.” Decker spoke with no irony at all, and a quick glance at his face showed Sosa he was being honest with her. “The girl has already been released back to her parents, while her little brother is expected to be sent home tomorrow. They haven’t been able to tell us much about what happened or why they were there, but I’m sure Lieutenant Peck will be able to fill in the blanks for us when he wakes up. Thankfully, he had only a mild concussion. It could’ve been much worse.”

“Only a mild concussion? Sir, again, with all due respect – ”

“No, Captain. You do not get to lecture me right now, or ever. He is alive, and he is in military custody, where he and his whole team should have been for years.”

Again she took a deep breath. “I take it the rest of the team got away?” She tried to keep her voice light, knowing he would have told her immediately if he really did have Hannibal, Murdock or BA in custody as well.

“For now, yes.” Decker’s eyes narrowed a little and a frown hovered over his forehead. “We found their van abandoned a little way from the crash site, and we’re on their trail right now. Johnny won’t get away from me this time. And he won’t get near this boy of his, either.”

So it was still personal, Sosa thought, resisting the urge to shake her head. Decker had been at West Point with Hannibal, years back, and she had never quite found out what had happened to make the shorter man hate Hannibal quite as much as he did. He knew him well, though, knew how he thought and how he fought. One of the main reasons Decker had been put in charge of the hunt for Smith and his team, she figured, much as her previous relationship with Face had partly led to her taking charge of the hunt at first. 

Thinking of Face made her chest hurt a little, and she turned away from Decker completely, back towards the bed, stroking one hand gently across the unconscious man’s forehead once more. She wasn’t here as a soldier, she was here simply as his friend. He had asked for her, in the midst of what must have been terrible pain, and she owed it to him to fight for him until he was strong enough to fight for himself. 

“I want to speak to his doctors,” she told Decker, keeping her voice steady and calm.

A pause before he replied, clearly weighing up her level of determination. “Of course you can, Captain. They don’t know anything new, but they can tell you exactly the extent of the damage.”

“I know the extent of the damage.” Her heart broke a little more to think of it. She had no idea at all how Face would cope, how any of the team would be able to cope. “Are the restraints really necessary? You really think he’s going to run anywhere?” 

“I learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected with Johnny and his team,” Decker sounded a little smug, and Sosa remembered again how much she had disliked working with him. “The restraints stay on. Though you’re right, of course. He’ll never run again. Or walk, for that matter.”

The sound of retreating footsteps, almost marching in a military parade, told her the colonel had left the room. Sosa didn’t watch him go, dropping instead into the chair by Face’s bedside, still holding his hand as her eyes blurred a little. It was just the lighting, she told herself, not tears. She had to be strong for him.

The initial impact with the jeep had shattered two of his vertebrae, and badly damaged his spinal cord. The doctors had been very clear with her over the phone about his chances of recovery, telling her just how serious the injury was. His life had been saved, and she knew he would recover, but she also knew that the last operation had failed. The nurse who had shown her to his little room had been so apologetic, yet matter-of-fact about it all. Something she supposed they were taught, and something she could understand, even appreciate – don’t give false hope. Be direct. 

The damage is too severe, she had been told. Irreparable. Face will be paralysed from the waist down, and again she wondered at the sense in fixing his leg. What difference did a broken tibia and a dislocated knee make, when his back was broken in two? 

Does he even know, she wondered? How could she possibly tell him? Aside from that horrible fact, do Hannibal and the team know? Is Hannibal planning some great rescue attempt right now, not knowing the full extent of his lover’s injuries? Oh, Sosa knew Face and Hannibal were finally together. It had certainly taken the two stubborn men long enough to get their twisted relationship sorted out, but she hadn’t been surprised in the slightest when she’d walked in on the two men kissing passionately the last time she had seen the whole team, over two years ago. Does Hannibal even know Face is alive right now?

“I’m right here, Face,” she told the unconscious man firmly, leaning closer to press a careful kiss to his cheek. “Everything will be okay. I promise.” And, ignoring the now-silent guard on the far side of the room, she settled in to wait for the doctor, and to wait for Face to wake up. Waiting to deal with whatever would come next. 

* * *

He woke slowly, drifting up from the dark, drugged depths towards… something. Something brighter, certainly, and something painful. An ache in his chest, and he recognized the sadly familiar pain of broken ribs as he tried to take a deeper breath, hating the moan that escaped his lips instead.

“Face? Baby, are you awake again?” The voice was vaguely familiar, definitely female, and he tried to place it even as he wondered exactly when he had been awake before. “Open your eyes, Face. It’s okay.”

Cool fingers on his face, stroking his cheek very gently, and he turned blindly towards the touch, trying to keep his breathing very shallow now, willing the pain in his chest to fade. His voice didn’t seem to want to work, though, so instead he tried to force his eyes open, wanting to see just who was with him. And where exactly he was. “Guh… I…”

“Slowly, Face. I’m right here.” Charissa. Of course it was Charissa, he realised as he finally got his eyelids to cooperate, blinking up at her slowly. She looked tired, dark circles under her darker eyes, long hair pulled into a messy ponytail, but still every bit as gorgeous as the day she’d left him.

He swallowed once, coughed a little, and tried to speak again. His voice, when it came, was a raspy croak, and he suspected the pain in his throat was almost certainly from having a tube shoved down it at some point in the not-too-distant past. That meant hospital, surgery, and he wondered just how badly he’d been injured this time. 

“Hey there, beautiful,” he eventually managed, and he was sure he must have imagined the way her eyes teared up a little at that.

“Hey, handsome.” And she stroked her fingers over his cheek again, squeezing his hand at the same time. “How are you feeling?”

He thought for a moment, judging the level of pain he was in. Aside from his chest, and a dull throb in his lower back, things weren’t too bad now the drugged haze was beginning to clear a fraction. His head didn’t even hurt that much, not really. Bearable, for now. “Awake. I think.”

Charissa smiled at that, a tiny, pathetic smile that immediately notched up his worry. “You’ve been drifting in and out all day,” she told him quietly, and he frowned a little, no memory of waking previously at all. “You’re on some pretty strong drugs, Face. Do you remember what happened?”

“I, uh…” Little flashes of memory started coming back, and he closed his eyes, trying to pull them into some sort of order. The team, he remembered being with the team, MPs right on top of them. And then – “Oh god, the kids! Are they alright?”

“They’re both fine, thanks to you.” A different voice, and he snapped his eyes open at that, turning his head to see an older woman in a doctor’s white coat, her silver hair pinned back in a neat bun. “I’m Doctor Ford, I’ve been leading the team looking after you. You’re in the hospital. You’re quite the hero, Lieutenant Peck.”

Instinctively he tried to rise, trying to pull his hands up, knowing he had to run, and fast. They knew who he was. Where was Hannibal? Also, and he couldn’t believe he was only thinking it now – damn drugs – but how the hell did Sosa get here? 

But his hands only lifted a couple of inches before the cold steel of handcuffs bit into the soft skin of his wrists, and his chest suddenly screamed in agony, lungs refusing to cooperate as he tried to pull himself to a sitting position. Realisation crashed over him in a wave even as Charissa squeezed his hand a little tighter, and the doctor dropped a gently restraining hand onto his forehead, pressing his head back into the pillow as he gasped for air.

“Stay still, Face,” Charissa whispered in his ear. “You’re in custody. Decker is here.”

And that, more than the pain burning in his chest, took all the fight out of him. He closed his eyes again, squeezing Charissa’s fingers a little in return, suddenly realising just how weak he really felt. The pain was starting to build back up to unbearable once more, his back beginning to pulse with pain in time with his heartbeat, but he ruthlessly pushed it back down for now – that could all wait. 

Once he could catch his breath properly again, he tried to get his thoughts together. “Hannibal?” he rasped, dreading the answer.

But when it came, it made him smile a little. “Still running,” Charissa told him. “You’re the only one they caught. They told me what happened and I flew out as soon as I heard.”

“Thank you,” he told her, honestly surprised and more than a little touched at her actions. She couldn’t help him escape, he knew, but at least she would be a somewhat-friendly face until Hannibal could engineer a rescue for him. If he knew his lover – and he did, in every way it was possible to know and understand another man – his colonel would already have a plan underway to get him out of here. Though how soon that could happen would obviously depend on how badly he was hurt. 

“What’s wrong with me? Broken ribs?” he asked the doctor, blinking up at her as she leaned over him, adjusting one of his IV lines.

“Yes, among other things.” Doctor Ford smiled at him, and with a pang of longing Face noticed her eyes were the exact same shade of blue-grey as Hannibal’s. “You remember what happened?”

“Hit by a jeep, right? I think it was a jeep, anyway…” He’d been far more focussed on getting to the children in time, once he’d realised the driver wasn’t slowing down or turning away.

The doctor nodded, pursing her lips. “The jeep was moving at high speed, and the initial impact caused a lot of damage, which was further exacerbated when you were thrown into the air before hitting the ground. From the paramedic’s report, you were thrown about 30 feet.”

No details in that about his injuries, at all. Nothing he couldn’t have figured out from the pain in his body, at least, as his back gave another warning throb. “I’m going to be okay, though, right?” Alarm bells were ringing loud now, triggered both by Charissa’s uncharacteristically emotional demeanour and the doctor’s obvious hesitancy. “Be straight with me, Doc. Please. Bust ribs, and what else?” 

The two women exchanged an unreadable look over his bed, and he tugged fruitlessly on his cuffs, hearing the dull chink of metal on metal. Tensing his muscles, the ache in his lower back suddenly flared up, turning rapidly from a dull pain to a burning fire, and he gasped loud, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony. 

“Breath, Face.” Charissa, and he tried to obey, he really did. “Just hold on, baby. Hold on.”

“I’m going to give you a shot of morphine,” the doctor told him, though her voice seemed far away now, lost in the fog of pain shooting up his back, burning through his stomach, into his chest… Not his legs, though, he realised with a start, even as he registered a cold sting in the back of his hand as the medication hit his body through the IV. Why couldn’t he feel his legs? Was that the drugs, or – ?

Cool fingers stroking his forehead again, soothing the pain, and the black fog started to descend on him once more. “My legs…?” he tried to ask, though it came out as more of a groan than anything, and then he was out faster than he could ever remember. And the pain was no more. 

* * *

“What do you mean, you already told him?”

Doctor Ford crossed her arms and stood firm, apparently not intimidated by Sosa towering over her. “He was awake and alert, and he knew something was seriously wrong. It is not my job to lie to him, Captain.”

“I know, but…” She had wanted to be there when they told him, wanted to hold his hand tight and reassure him that, somehow, everything would be alright. Though she didn’t know how it could be.

“He has the right to know details about his medical condition, Captain Sosa, even if he is to be kept under lock and key at all times.” The older woman softened a little as she looked up at Sosa. “I’m glad that Colonel Decker has allowed you to visit him, at least. Though my understanding is that he couldn’t really keep you out, not as his legal emergency contact.”

That had surprised the hell out of Sosa when she’d found out. At the time, she hadn’t even questioned the fact that the doctors were so willing to discuss Face’s injuries with her over the telephone. She knew they should only have discussed such sensitive personal information with his next-of-kin, but she had been far too worried about getting to him, catching a flight, arranging a car when she landed. 

Finding out Face had named her as his second emergency contact had been a real shock. It was written into his Army paperwork, into all his legal forms from the prison, and not even Decker had a right to keep her out. She might as well have been family, and she couldn’t quite believe that, after everything they had gone through, he trusted her that much. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way, that he wanted someone outside his immediate team to be aware if something happened. And his choices were limited, with no family or other close friends. 

Hannibal, of course, was his primary contact, and had legal power of attorney should anything happen to Face. Not that they could contact him right now, though if she could, she would. In a heartbeat.

“How did he take it?” she asked the doctor, dreading the answer. Face would either try to brush it off, plastering on a fake smile and working hard to convince the whole world it didn’t matter, or it would break him completely, leaving him depressed and angry. “How is he doing?”

Doctor Ford glanced over her shoulder towards the open door to Face’s room, then took Sosa’s arm, walking them both a little further away. “I’m not sure it sank in, to be honest, and that isn’t necessarily a surprise. He’s still on a very high level of drugs – we’ve put him on a morphine pump to try to manage his pain – but he seemed very positive, quite accepting of the whole situation.” 

“Positive? Really?”

The doctor nodded, frowning. “He asked if we were sure he’d never walk again, and I was honest with him. I didn’t want to give him any false hope. There may be other improvements we can make, some nerves we can repair, but we can’t give him his legs back. He started joking about wheelchair races and entering the Paralympics. But I’ve told enough people difficult news to know an act when I see one.” 

“That sounds like Face.” Option one it was, then, and Sosa shook her head a fraction, wondering how on earth she was supposed to help him through this. Walking away wasn’t an option, not while he was alone and hurting, but she wasn’t cut out to be a nursemaid. 

But then she realised she wouldn’t get the chance to even try. As soon as Face was recovered enough, Decker would whisk him away to a maximum security prison, and he would complete any rehab behind bars, locked away from her and from Hannibal. Unless she could get word to the Colonel about what was happening. And to do that, she needed to speak to Face alone, without that guard always by his side.

The doctor took her silence as concern, and gently patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can for him, Captain, I promise. There are counsellors in the hospital to help him adjust, and I’m sure the military will do everything possible to help him too, even if they are just going to throw him back into prison.” Something in her voice told Sosa the doctor wasn’t exactly a fan of Decker and his methods, and she wondered if maybe she might have an ally here.

“You, ah, don’t agree he belongs in prison?” she asked cautiously, and Doctor Ford narrowed her eyes a little. “You know he’s a wanted federal fugitive, and that he’s been on the run for years.”

“Not my place to say, Captain Sosa. But it seems to me that team of his has done a whole lot of good these last years, and he’s been hurt saving two children with no thought of his own safety. Seems to me like there are a whole lot of other more dangerous men out there that need locking up, rather than that poor man.”

Sosa offered her a wider smile, and took her hand. “Call me Charissa.”

“Angela,” the doctor offered after a moment, returning her smile, before turning them both back towards Face’s room. “Now, go on in. He was awake last time I checked on him, though he’s still drifting in and out with those drugs.”

“No change in his condition?” she asked, knowing there had been complications after the last surgery, before her arrival late last night. 

“He’s stable right now, and as comfortable as we can make him. We’ll hopefully get the chest tube removed later this morning, then we just need to let time do some healing before we can start any sort of physical therapy and rehab.” Angela gave her one last smile before leaving Sosa at the open door. “It’s going to be a long road ahead, Captain Charissa. He’s going to need you.”

The moment Sosa stepped into his room, she could tell Face was awake. His eyes were closed, but he turned his head slightly towards the door, reacting to some tiny sound she must have made, and there was a tension in his body that spoke of consciousness. A tension in his upper body, at least.

“Hey,” she started, then stopped. What could she possibly say to him?

“Hey there yourself, gorgeous.” The last of the scratch in his voice had faded overnight, and he sounded more like himself, even if his words were a little sluggish. Painkillers, Sosa reminded herself, as well as the whole being under arrest thing.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked the short distance to the side of his bed, lifting his hand back into hers, trying to offer what little comfort she could. He looked much the same as he had last night, still pale, still bruised, that little oxygen cannula still tucked into his nose, but he was bundled beneath a warm blanket at least, hiding the worst of the damage to his chest.

“I spoke to the doctor, Face. She said they’d told you.”

He still didn’t open his eyes, but he did shrug a little, a difficult manoeuvre when he was still completely flat on the bed, only a thin support pillow beneath his head and neck. Of course, he’d had operations on his spine, and he probably wasn’t supposed to move too much. “It is what it is, right, Charissa? And I tell you, there are more important things right now, like the standard of the food in this place – ”

“Face, don’t – ”

“ – ‘Cos let me tell you, that along with the bedside manners, or rather the lack of bedside manners, is enough to make a man – ”

“Face, stop!”

“ – Get up and walk out, even if they tell him he can’t… That he won’t ever be able to…” Finally he tailed off, chest heaving a little, and she held her tongue for a minute, letting him try to get some sort of grip on the situation.

After that minute, blue eyes clouded with morphine blinked open, and he heaved a soft sigh as he looked up at her.

Sosa forced a smile. He wouldn’t want sympathy from her, she knew. “Feel better now you’ve got that out of your system?”

Face huffed a single, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, yeah. Much better, thanks for asking.”

“Good. That’s what I’m here for, to let you rant and rave.” She let go of his hand a moment in order to drag a stool over to his bedside, making sure it was high enough to let him see her without twisting. “So, do you need me to ask how you’re feeling this morning?”

“A little tied up, and not in a good way,” came the typically smart reply, and he jiggled the metal cuffs against the bed rails so the sound filled the room. “Decker does realise I could get out of these if I wanted to, right?”

Sosa glanced over at the ever-present Corporal Manning, who was sitting in the far corner of the room, trying to blend in. He was staring determinedly at the wall, trying to hide his half-smile, and she had to smile a little herself, though she knew he was listening intently to every word they said, ready to report back to Decker. 

“They’re symbolic, I guess?” she offered, taking his hand again and feeling him wrap his long, clever fingers around her own.

“Yeah, Decker’s all for the symbolism, that’s for sure.” Face shifted a fraction on his pillow, then immediately tried to hide his wince. “He must be loving this. Man-on-the-run who will never be able to run again. The ultimate symbol.”

“Face, baby…”

“No, don’t.” A moment ago she’d thought she heard the first hint of real emotion from him, but now his voice was steel. “Don’t call me that. Don’t feel sorry for me, not that, damn it. Anything but that.” He paused, gritting his teeth, frowning, and she could see him breathing hard through his nose, sucking on that extra oxygen from the cannula. After a moment, he managed to continue, voice tight and controlled. “It is what it is. And they’ve got me anyway. Not gonna be doing a whole lot of running in jail, whichever way you look at it.” Another wince, and he didn’t even try to hide it this time.

“You’re hurting,” Sosa murmured, trying hard to keep the sympathy from her voice as she searched the bed for the little button attached to the morphine pump, eventually finding it hidden deliberately under the edge of his blanket. “Use it, Face,” she told him, pressing it into his palm and closing his fingers around it loosely. “You don’t have to be the big tough hero right now, not for me. You owe me nothing.”

Some of the fight seemed to drain right out of him at that, though the pain remained, and she saw a flash of something, of the old Face maybe, in those hazy blue eyes. “Why are you here again?” 

“Because you asked for me. And because I’m your friend.” She closed both her hands around his one, able to feel the very moment he gave in and pressed the button. “I’m on your side, Face. Really I am.”

Sosa saw the second the morphine hit his system, and saw the relief he couldn’t hide. Those blue eyes blinked once, twice, then stayed closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep just yet. Angling her body so maybe Manning couldn’t see so clearly, she leaned down over his prone form as he parted his lips a fraction.

“Does he know?” Barely audible, more a breath than a whisper, but of course Sosa knew immediately who he was asking after.

Keeping her own voice as soft as she could, she bit her lip before replying honestly. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Good…” And as the drugs finally pulled him back under, as his fingers went limp in her hand once more, he breathed,” Please… Don’t tell him…”

* * *

It had been four days now, four long, difficult days spent hiding when all Hannibal wanted to do was rip the whole world apart until he found Face. He was desperately trying to stay calm and focussed, knowing he had to keep a cool head, now more than ever. Knowing BA and especially Murdock needed him. But all he could think about was what kind of hell his lover might be going through. 

Hannibal lifted the edge of the heavy curtain away from the window, peering out into the dark of the night, only to see yet another police cruiser drive past, its lights flashing lazily. He quickly dropped the curtain back into place, swearing under his breath as he turned back to the living room of their current safe house, just as BA emerged from one of the bedrooms.

The big man looked as bad as Hannibal felt, lines of worry creasing his forehead, but he still nodded as he met his colonel’s questioning gaze.

“Crazy fool’s finally asleep,” BA reported quietly. “Gave him enough sedatives to keep him out ‘til morning.”

“Good.” Hannibal knew he should say something more than that, but nothing came to mind. “Good,” he repeated softly. Murdock really needed to rest.

“You should get some sleep too, Boss. I can keep watch for a few hours.”

Hannibal knew BA was right. He had barely slept since everything had happened, trying to keep them all together, trying to dodge the endless police presence and the roadblocks which had been set up all around this tiny town. They’d had to abandon the van very quickly, covering most of the distance on foot, hiding in alleys and dumpsters. Decker was really throwing everything he had at them this time, and Hannibal could only assume that he now had Face as well. Though just what condition his poor boy was in… 

No, he couldn’t turn his brain off long enough to sleep, his whole body positively buzzing with the amount of coffee he’d drunk, so he shook his head in response to BA’s suggestion. “Thanks, BA, but I couldn’t sleep.”

The other man’s frown got heavier. “You gotta save your strength, man. For when we find Face.”

“I know.” And thank goodness BA had said ‘when’ not ‘if’. Hannibal started to pace in the small room, while the younger man flattened himself back against one wall, huge arms folded over his chest. “I just can’t see what Decker’s game is. What he was trying to pull at that quarry.”

“It was a set-up, from the very start.” BA said it as a statement, not a question. They’d been over everything time and again in the last four days, and Hannibal couldn’t stand not understanding what the overall plan was. Why his Face wasn’t with them right now.

“I didn’t see it coming,” he said now, softly. Echoes of the last time he’d said that, years ago, of Face asking him if he’d seen that Morrison could betray them. Different circumstances now, of course. “Face saw it. I didn’t.”

“Face had a bad feelin’, Boss, but we all agreed to go on the job. You know that.”

Face had seen it. His brilliant, clever XO. His creative, talented con-artist. His beautiful, passionate lover had seen that something was wrong, taking Hannibal to one side, pointing out a few inconsistencies in the sob-story they’d been told, about an illegal mining operation being run out of an old quarry. Face had said it didn’t add up, the money-trafficking, the child labour – it all sounded almost too ‘perfect’, as if it had been made-up just for the A Team. 

“My fault,” Hannibal whispered to himself, remembering how he’d talked Face around. There was no hard evidence against them taking the case, although he’d agreed it was a little suspicious. There had been plenty of evidence that, if it was genuine, they could do a whole lot of good, and save a lot of lives. On top of that, the team’s funds were getting dangerously low, and the job promised a healthy pay day for them all. 

Face had, reluctantly, agreed with Hannibal’s assessment. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had doubts about a job, and this time at least they’d managed to agree without resorting to a shouting match, before any punches had been thrown. They’d taken questionable cases before, when they had to, and this time at least they would all be together, in case anything did go wrong. In case it was a set-up. Why hadn’t Hannibal seen it was a set-up?

“Not your fault, Hannibal.” BA’s words snapped Hannibal back to the present, to this tiny hellhole of a safe-house, the emergency fall-back position Face had insisted on arranging in case they had to split up. Never thinking it would be used. “Decker’s fault. And the driver of that damn jeep. Tear his head off if I ever – ”

“That won’t help, Bosco.” Although Hannibal wouldn’t guarantee the driver’s life if he ever ran into him. From what Murdock had said, the jeep had been going so fast, there would’ve been no way for the driver to stop in time. 

His poor pilot had seen the whole thing, trying to get back to the van with Face by his side, both of them trying to get away from Decker and his cronies. The whole thing had been a set-up, and the MPs had waited until the team were out of the van and venturing into the quarry before springing their trap. Hannibal had put his boys through so many training drills, working through scenarios just like this one, and there should have been no way Decker could have caught them, despite his enormous advantage in manpower. But those kids…

Damn it, why couldn’t they have stayed hidden a little longer? No one had known they were there, playing in one of the abandoned mine shafts. Murdock had described, in panicked, desperate words, how Face had seen them when the driver didn’t, when Murdock hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong apart from the obvious trap they’d stumbled into. He’d described how Face had pushed them clear before being hit. Described the way Face’s body had been almost been folded in half backwards as he went up on the bonnet, described the arc he took as he flew through the air. Described the terrible way he had hit the road hard before rolling to a stop, not moving at all.

The jeep had gone off road at that point, and Hannibal had seen it hit a pile of rubble as he and BA had pulled up alongside Murdock in their van. He’d seen the small explosion as the engine went up in flames, seen the driver and a passenger scrambling out and running to a still figure lying on the concrete, seen another group of soldiers converging on that same figure, surrounding him. Hadn’t known it was Face. Not until after. Not until they were driving as fast as they could, away, until Murdock was screaming and sobbing in the back seat, desperate to get back to his best friend.

Now, Hannibal didn’t realise BA had moved away from his position by the wall until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him pause in his pacing. “We’ll find him, man. You know we will.”

“We will. But… Where is he, big guy? Why haven’t I found him yet?” There was no way Face could have avoided serious injuries, not after being hit like Murdock had described. Hannibal had contacts at the local hospitals, and no one fitting Face’s description had been taken in.

“Hard to go search for him right now, with all these cops around.” BA pushed Hannibal down onto the sofa, waiting to see if he pushed himself back up before sitting carefully next to him. “You’re doin’ all you can, makin’ all those calls. You know Decker don’t mean him no harm – they’ll be takin’ care of him, wherever he is. And we’ll find him, get him back.”

So many calls. Hannibal had phoned everyone he knew in the area, everyone he thought he could trust. No one had been able to tell him anything, other than the fact there was apparently a military presence at each medical centre in the area. He’d even risked a call to the local military base, but that had got him precisely nowhere. Any more, and he’d risk exposing their safe house. He couldn’t do that to BA and Murdock. Had to keep them safe, even if he couldn’t keep his lover safe. 

BA was right, of course. Decker would take care of Face’s injuries, Hannibal knew the man well enough to trust in that much. Their lieutenant would probably be behind bars already, in some prison infirmary, maybe miles away from here, but Decker was an honourable man. At least, he always had been, all those years ago.

“I just don’t understand what Decker is playing at,” he confessed, hating how helpless he felt right then. “Nothing on the news, no statements made to the press. Nothing at all.”

As it had been every minute since they finally made it to this safe space, the television was tuned to the news channel, the sound turned right down low. There had been some speculation by reporters about the military presence in town, but so far they seemed to be running with the idea of a training exercise. No mention of the incident at the quarry. No mention of the A Team.

Surely, the capture of one member of the infamous A Team would make it onto the local news, if not the national news? They’ve been on the run for three years now, and Hannibal knew the search for them had been relatively low-priority until this incident. They’ve made a good reputation for themselves, and Murdock in particular took great pleasure in showing them all the websites that had sprung up online, people they’ve helped over the years campaigning for their pardons, as well as fans who think they are underground heroes fighting against the government. But now, nothing on the news at all?

BA leaned back into the sofa cushions, exhausted and worried, running one hand over his distinctive Mohawk. “I don’t have a clue, Hannibal. You think he’d want to flush us out, tell the whole area to be on the look-out for us. Show the world he’s caught Faceman.”

“Unless Face is already…” But Hannibal couldn’t even finish that sentence, couldn’t even consider the fact that his lover might have died from his injuries. No, Face was alive, somewhere, and they would find him and get him back. Hannibal simply couldn’t imagine a world where Face wasn’t by his side, fighting with him, sleeping with him, loving him the way he loves Face in return. So many years they still need together, time to make up for all those wasted years fighting their feelings for each other. 

He can’t do this without Face. He doesn’t even want to try. 

“We’ll find him, boss. We will.” 

But Hannibal had a terrible feeling, deep down in the pit of his stomach, and he wished he could be as confident as BA was trying to sound.

* * *

Every single time Face opened his eyes, he was convinced he would discover the whole thing had been just a bad dream, a nightmare. Convinced he would wake up safe in whatever bed they were calling their own that day, wrapped tightly in Hannibal’s strong arms, feeling his lover’s warmth surround him completely. Safe.

But every single time he opened his eyes, it was to the same tiled white ceiling, the same cold hospital bed. The same handcuffs keeping him from moving, though he knew he wouldn’t get far even if his hands were free. He hated how dependent he’d become on that damn morphine pump, but the agony in his lower back seemed to come and go with no warning, stealing his breath away, or stealing what little breath he had, at least. Those broken ribs meant any kind of breath was a blessing. Or a curse, maybe.

Every single time he opened his eyes, it was to the same heavily drugged feeling, brain and body sluggish yet painfully aware of just how dire his situation really was. He was fully aware of the fact there was a uniformed guard in the room with him at all times – four of them, he thought, on six hour shifts, though keeping track of time was difficult since the morphine kept knocking him out.

There had been a steady stream of medical personnel in and out of his room whenever he was awake, constant tests and questions. Doctor Ford, Angela, was exactly the kind of doctor he preferred, no nonsense and straight talking, though he really hadn’t wanted to hear what she had to say.

“The damage to your spinal cord is too severe, Lieutenant. There is no treatment, no therapy that can repair the nerve damage. You won’t be able to walk again.”

“Ever?” he’d asked, stunned, trying desperately to take it in. At least that explained why that terrible pain in his back never travelled down his legs. Why he hadn’t known his right leg was broken and in a cast. Why he couldn’t move his toes, no matter how hard he tried.

“Not ever, no.” The older woman with Hannibal’s blue-grey eyes had rested her hand gently on his forearm, her fingers warm against his chilled skin. He couldn’t seem to get warm since he’d woken up properly, wondered if that was shock, or nerve damage, or just the temperature in this damned hospital. “You’ll need more surgery on your back at a later date, once some of the swelling has gone down. I know it doesn’t seem this way, but you really were very lucky to have survived at all.”

He understood that, really he did. From the description of the accident, he knew he should have a severe head injury at the very least, not to mention massive internal injuries, but instead his back had taken the brunt of the initial impact, then his leg as he’d hit the ground. He felt very glad that he had no memory of the accident itself, not after getting to the two kids.

Decker had been in to speak to him a few times, keeping in contact with the doctors about his condition. Face knew the rest of his time was probably being spent running the search for Hannibal, BA and Murdock, but he had every confidence his team wouldn’t be found. They’d gotten good at running and hiding over the last few years. Very good.

He had been surprised Decker hadn’t questioned him more. There had been a few cursory interviews, focussing particularly on the accident and why the children had been in the quarry, but other than that, nothing.

“I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll give me any useful information about Colonel Smith and the rest of your team,” the colonel had told him. “I’ll find them, have no doubt about that. Though if you feel like giving me a clue, I’ll happily take it.”

“Here’s a clue for you: Foxtrot Oscar.” In the back of his head, he had imagined Hannibal lecturing him once again about not antagonising the enemy, but he figured this situation was a little different from any he’d been in before. Yes, he was cuffed to the bed, but he didn’t think there was any chance Decker would start torturing him for information. The army had rules against that sort of thing. 

So instead Decker had just smiled, told him he had expected nothing less, before giving him the standard lines about how he would be treated here until he was more stable before being returned to prison, where his rehabilitation would continue behind bars. Oh joy, Face had thought, before pressing his morphine pump and slipping away. 

God, he wished Hannibal was with him. Hannibal would know what to say or what to do, how to make this all feel better. Instead he had Decker and four MPs for company, not to mention a no-doubt heavily guarded ICU. And Charissa.

Charissa had been both a blessing and a curse, though he was incredibly glad she had come all the way from DC. He had no memory of asking for her, though apparently he had, and Decker was letting her visit whenever she wanted. Which was often. Nine times out of ten, when he opened his eyes, she was there, perched on a stool by his bedside. Holding his hand.

Once or twice, she’d tried to ask him about Hannibal. It was difficult, with a guard always in his room, no way to talk freely. She was walking a fine line just by being here with him, although their previous relationship was no secret. What was a secret, though no doubt strongly suspected by Decker, was the fact she had helped the team escape from custody the second time, not to mention the countless times she had misdirected the search for them in their first frantic few months on the run. 

He knew she had no way to get in contact with his team, and, although they had her contact details, Hannibal would probably not think to call her. Not after it had been so very long since they’d seen her – two years, nearly – and after the accident had happened on the other side of the country from where she was based. No, they both knew Hannibal would only call her as a last resort, though after almost a week since the accident, he might well be reaching that point soon.

In a way, he was glad. As much as he wanted Hannibal by his side, comforting him and protecting him, asking the doctors all the questions Face just couldn’t think of, at the same time he wanted his lover and his two best friends as far away from this whole mess as possible. Hannibal wasn’t built to be behind bars, and with Decker on high alert, Face thought there was a very real risk that the team wouldn’t get away if they were captured again. He knew Decker didn’t have them yet. He knew the shorter colonel would have no second thoughts about bragging to him if they were under arrest.

He knew Hannibal would be working on a rescue for him, and if his injuries were any less severe, he’d be counting down the seconds. But how could things ever be the same now? If what Angela told him was true – and he had no reason to doubt her, as much as he might want to – then Hannibal couldn’t help him now. He needed more operations, though to what end he had no real idea after tuning out during the doctor’s endless explanations, and then physical therapy to get him sitting upright and into a wheelchair. And his brain gets stuck there every single time.

A wheelchair. For the rest of his life. 

How had it come to that? Paralysed and fucking useless from the waist down. The doctors thought they might be able to give him bowel and bladder control back, and he supposed he should be grateful about that. He might be able to piss and shit at will, but running, walking, moving under his own steam… Never again? 

And if he even thought about making love with Hannibal, about never being able to – He had to think of something else, every single time. Before he did something stupid like cry.

He was still in shock, he knew. Still drugged up beyond belief. He’d seen enough comrades seriously wounded in battle over the years – limbs lost, permanently disabled – to know what was probably coming his way. Anger. Depression. Frustration. And all that on top of the thrill of going back to prison, for probably all of his original ten year sentence plus extra time for breaking out and going on the run after the mess at the LA docks. 

He really wanted to talk to Charissa, alone. As much as they’d come to terms with their past, as much as they seemed to have settled into a friendship of sorts, he really needed to talk to her about what to do. He knew she wanted to call Hannibal for him, and yes, he had a phone number where his lover could be reached. But he didn’t want Hannibal risking his own freedom to try to save him. Not when he couldn’t see any way he could possibly go on the run again, not like this. Not now. Not ever, surely, in a wheelchair. 

She asked him, often, “Is there anyone else I can call for you? Another friend, maybe?”

And every single time, he told her, “No, but thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Charissa persists. “A lawyer, even?”

He was sure. He knew she was giving him every opportunity to slip her Hannibal’s number, even knowing Decker would almost certainly take the number away, use it as an excuse to throw her out of the hospital. Still, she was giving him a chance. She wanted to help him, he knew. That strong sense of justice she had, coupled maybe with her lingering guilt over leaving him heartbroken all those years earlier. And certainly mixed in with pity for his shattered body.

He couldn’t stand pity, or sympathy. He had no use for either. They wouldn’t change anything.

So, for now, he had to bide his time. Let the doctors and the drugs do their work, take whatever comfort Charissa could offer him – she’s a better nursemaid than she thinks, a nice person buried beneath the ice-queen – and try to let his body heal. As much as he wished this was all a nightmare, he had to accept this was his new reality. Paralysed and under arrest. And no way for Hannibal to help him this time. 

* * *

“A military training operation? A mysterious lockdown? A targeted search for person or persons unknown? Our town has been rife with rumours and speculation over the last week, since the unexplained arrival of Army troops who have become a familiar presence as we’ve gone about our daily lives. Now, at last, some of our questions have been answered.

“A short written statement was released to all media outlets in the early hours of this morning, following days of gossip and conjecture. This statement confirms the rumour that there has been a manhunt underway, a search for four federal fugitives. A search the United States Army preferred to keep secret, for reasons unknown at this time.

“In the statement, signed by Colonel Roderick Decker, we are told that the search was for four former Army Rangers now commonly known as the A Team, led by former-Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith. These four men have been classed as federal fugitives for the past four years following their dishonourable discharges from the service, as well as having a growing underground following due to their work as self-styled ‘soldiers of fortune’. 

“Following a covert operation at the disused Forley Quarry involving 24 US Army soldiers, led by Colonel Decker, one member of the team – Smith’s second in command, former-Lieutenant Templeton Peck - was apprehended, although the statement reads as follows: ‘Peck was critically injured in an accident involving a military jeep, which contained two soldiers. Both Sergeants involved received only minor injuries, although, despite undergoing surgery and despite repeated attempts to revive him, Peck later died from his injuries.’

“Colonel Decker’s statement concludes: ‘On behalf of the United States Army I would like to apologise for any inconvenience caused by the presence of military personnel, and to thank the public for their cooperation. We believe former-Colonel Smith and his remaining two men, former-Captain Murdock and former-Corporal Baracus, have now left the immediate area, and as such we will be scaling back our operation. I emphasise again that the A Team are highly dangerous as well as being highly skilled at disguise and concealment, and that under no circumstances should members of the public approach these men.’

“On screen now are pictures of the remaining three members of the A Team, along with the number of the confidential helpline where you can report any sightings. We understand that former-Lieutenant Peck had no family or next of kin, and that he will be buried in a simple funeral in Los Angeles next week.

“For now, we here at WKAM news would like to remind citizens not to approach these men, and to continue to cooperate fully with the US Army as they begin to withdraw from our area. Coming up next, we have a special feature looking at the myths and reality behind the mysterious A Team. Are they really soldiers of fortune, or are they simply traitors to their country…?” 

* * *

Angela Ford was waiting for Sosa the moment she walked into the ICU area, after already having been asked to show her military ID to three separate people. The doctor looked angry and perhaps a little scared, but that anger chased the last shreds of doubt out of Sosa’s mind.

Even though the doctor had phoned her hours ago, dragging her out of a restless sleep just as Decker’s statement was hitting the first of the early morning news programmes and breakfast radio shows, there had still been a tiny part of her mind that knew it was all too possible. That Face really might have died from his injuries, despite having remained stable these last few days.

“Captain.” Angela nodded to her once before ploughing straight on, that anger on her face and in her voice too. “I have no idea what kind of games the army are playing here, but I cannot have this hospital disrupted like this, not to mention the lives of my patients – ”

“I know, and believe me, I have no idea what’s going on. But I intend to find out.” Sosa walked straight past the doctor and into the small room where Face had been for the previous week. “What – ?”

She froze in the doorway, much as she had the first time she’d visited him. The room was empty, the bed cleaned. No sign any one had been there. No Face.

“They’ve moved him,” came Doctor Ford’s angry words from behind her. “Against my advice, which they seem to treat with a pinch of salt. Is that a ‘man’ thing or just a ‘military man’ thing?”

“Angela, where is he? Is he still in the hospital?”

The doctor took a breath, clearly trying to calm herself, and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her white coat. “He’s been taken to a more secure suite on the third floor, where they usually keep psychiatric patients. They say they are planning to transport him to a military facility either tomorrow or the day after. In my opinion it’s far too soon to even consider that, but again it looks like that isn’t my decision.”

They were already moving even as she was still speaking, heading for the bank of elevators at the far end of the corridor. As the doors slid open and they both stepped inside, Sosa asked, “Did Colonel Decker say anything to you about his statement to the press?”

“We’ve all had to sign secrecy agreements. Lieutenant Peck was never here.”

The quiet hum of the elevator filled the silence as Sosa tried to think through her anger. What was Decker thinking? “That makes no sense,” she mumbled after a moment. “The statement said he’d had surgery, so he must have been here. He is here, for god’s sake – he isn’t dead!”

“Colonel Decker says otherwise. The press might not even think to check here – there are two hospitals closer to the quarry than us. They didn’t want him in a facility any nearer, in case his team found him.” Anger even stronger in the other woman’s voice. “I don’t think it would have made any difference had he been treated sooner, but how they could even take the chance…”

Before Sosa could react to that, the doors slid open to the sight of two armed soldiers, and – 

“Decker!” Sosa flashed her id quickly at the guards before storming down the corridor towards where the colonel stood, talking with another uniformed man. “What the hell are you playing at?”

The colonel didn’t even flinch, calmly finishing his conversation and signing something on a clipboard before dismissing the other officer with a brief salute, which was returned. Finally, he turned to her, and Sosa had to fight hard not to quiver a little under his angry gaze. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but Decker really did have a particular manner that made her feel like a new recruit all over again.

“I’ll thank you to remember just who you are addressing at all times, Captain Sosa. I will have great pleasure bringing you up on charges if you continue to address me in such a manner.” His voice was low and dangerous, a glint in his eye and steel in his narrow shoulders.

Not wanting to make this whole situation even worse for Face, she pulled herself to attention, though she withheld her salute. He wasn’t her direct CO anymore. “Colonel Decker, Sir. My apologies, Sir, but may I ask precisely why Lieutenant Peck has been moved against medical advice? And why the press have only been informed of his arrest now, a week after he was taken into custody?”

“And why the hell they think he’s dead when he should be able to make a good recovery?” The doctor had apparently made it past the security, and Sosa was glad of her presence and relative freedom of speech.

Decker looked back and forth between the two women, head titled to one side, then a small smile appeared on his thin lips. Sosa had to fight the urge to slap it off his smug face. Eventually he took a step back, gesturing towards a room at the end of the corridor. A closed door with yet another soldier standing outside. “Shall we talk this over in Peck’s presence, perhaps?”

“Are you even going to pretend to care what Lieutenant Peck thinks, or what he needs right now?” Angela again, though Sosa was thinking the exact same thing.

“Former-Lieutenant Peck will not be put in any danger while he is in my custody, Doctor, I assure you.” Decker dug an electronic key-card out of his pocket, swiping it through a panel on the side of the door. He waited until there was an audible click before pushing on through into what was clearly Face’s new room. “As for what he thinks – well, he’s a prisoner in custody, so what he thinks is fairly irrelevant right now. What d’you say, Peck?”

But Face said nothing in reply, fixing Decker with a blank look that worried Sosa a little, before he turned his gaze back towards the ceiling. His new room was much the same as his previous room in ICU – the same equipment, the same monitors attached to his broken body, the same morphine pump still in place – although the head of his bed had been raised a few inches, so he looked a little more involved in what was going on around him.

“You okay, Face?” Sosa asked, pushing her anger at Decker to one side for the minute, while Doctor Ford went straight to him, her keen eyes tracking over his monitors. 

Still not a sound from the man in the bed, though he did meet Sosa’s gaze and his lips twitched in what might have been a smile. It only lasted a second, and again those blue eyes turned away.

Decker distracted her by positioning himself at the foot of Face’s bed, keeping his back rudely turned to his prisoner. He folded his arms over his chest before addressing Sosa directly. “You had questions, I believe, Captain? And please, before you ask, bear in mind my rank, your rank, and the fact you have no rights here. I may or may not answer your questions, but you may ask them, as long as – ”

“Yes, Sir, Colonel, Sir,” Sosa bit out, wanting to cut him off before he could really get going. Like Face, the man could talk when he wanted to. “Firstly, Sir, why has Lieuten – former-Lieutenant Peck been moved against medical advice?”

“There wasn’t adequate security in the ICU,” came the short, sharp response. “I’m assured his care will not suffer.”

Doctor Ford shook her head, her attention still focussed on Face, fingers wrapped around his wrist feeling his pulse for herself. “He shouldn’t be moved more than absolutely necessary.” She managed to catch her patient’s eye and spoke to him directly. “You need to stay as still as possible and let your back start to heal. As I explained, you need more surgery to help improve your condition, surgery we can’t perform until some of the swelling has gone down. Every move puts your recovery at risk.”

“We’ll be careful, Doctor, I assure you. Though he will still be paralysed, whatever we do, right?” Decker sounded almost bored, but before Sosa could speak up on behalf of Face, who still just looked blank – perhaps he had been given extra sedatives before they moved him – the colonel suddenly addressed Sosa once more, “Your next question, I believe, was about the press?”

“Yes, Sir.” She could argue with him about levels of care, and the risks of making things even worse for Face, at a later date. “More precisely, why a statement was made now, and why you’ve misled the press about Face’s condition.”

“I don’t feel inclined to answer either of those questions, Captain.”

“Colonel, you can’t just – ”

“Again, Captain,” – extra emphasis on her rank there, and she knew she was treading on thin ice – “You don’t have any rights here. You are no longer a part of this investigation, therefore you may not questions how I run things. In fact, you were removed from your position as a direct result of your failure to apprehend any of the so-called A Team.”

Biting back the urge to point out Decker’s own many failures over the last few years, Sosa found herself delighted when Doctor Ford spoke up instead. “On the other hand, Colonel Decker, you’ve clearly been a terrific success and I’m sure the Army are very proud of you. One arrest at last, only achieved by hitting him with a jeep.”

Face’s lips twitched in a definite smile at that, and Sosa felt a little knot in her chest dissolve when she saw it. He was still in there, listening, keeping deliberately out of the conversation for some unknown reason.

Decker didn’t rise to the bait, so Sosa continued her questions instead, though she didn’t expect him to reveal anything else to her. “You think you can draw the team out, right?” This wasn’t like the movies, where the bad guy talks through his plans, allowing the hero to foil them at the last minute. In fact, strictly speaking, Decker was the good guy here, an officer doing his duty, arresting a federal fugitive and chasing three more. But there was no black and white any more, only shades of grey – Sosa knew beyond a doubt the team had been framed and wrongly convicted, and they should have been pardoned long ago, not hunted, though those higher in the chain of command than her still disagreed. “You think, if you pull back the military presence, they’ll make a move. Turn up at his funeral, perhaps?”

Immediately, she felt terrible, looking quickly back at Face. Did he know Decker had told the world he had died from his injuries? And for the first time all day, she wondered if Hannibal, Murdock and BA had heard the ‘news’ – all her attention had been focussed on Face, on helping him cope with the whole situation, the arrest and his life-changing injuries. Watching him drift in and out of a drugged sleep, never able to be alone with him, she hadn’t been able to talk to him about contacting Hannibal. She hadn’t really considered what kind of hell the rest of the team must be going through, especially the colonel, separated from his lover. And now, if they’d heard Face had died…

“I really couldn’t possibly comment, Captain,” Decker drawled, but Sosa knew she had hit the nail right on the head when Face nodded once. He knew, then.

“You think Colonel Smith will fall for that?” There might be no love lost between her and Hannibal, but she wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. To think you had lost the man you loved for ever… She had to find a way to get word to him, tell him the truth, tell him Face was alive but so badly broken. She had to find some way to speak with Face alone, although she hoped that maybe Hannibal would phone her soon now, trying to verify the no-doubt devastating news. Maybe Hannibal could really fall for this trap, if he wasn’t thinking straight. How could he be thinking straight, after Decker had messed with his mind and his heart like this? “What kind of idiot – How did you ever even come up with this idea, Sir?”

Decker shook his head at her, making a big show out of checking his watch. “Well, I have to be going. Things to do, fugitives to capture.” He paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “One question for you though, Captain: what makes you think this was my idea?”

He was gone before Sosa could process that properly, and she exchanged confused glances with Doctor Ford, who still over by Face, her hand lightly on his shoulder.

“If it wasn’t his idea…?” She let her question hang in the air, trying to think through who might be pressuring Decker, though she didn’t think for a moment the colonel would really go through with this idea if he didn’t believe it had a chance of working. Maybe, after a week of searching for the rest of the team with no results, he was more open to involving the media, and more open to outside suggestions.

The doctor shrugged, opening her mouth as if to speak, before closing it again. Instead, a different voice spoke up, soft and slurred yet clearly determined.

“It was me,” Face told them, finally meeting Sosa’s confused gaze and holding it. “It was my idea.” 

* * *

“What do you mean, it was your idea?” Sosa looked horrified, as Face had known she would be. That was the main reason he hadn’t spoken to her about it first, not wanting to have this particular discussion until after everything was done. Until it couldn’t be changed.

“I mean exactly that,” he told her, moving his shoulders fractionally on his pillow, feeling that now-familiar stab of pain shoot up his spine and through his chest. Right now, he welcomed it, let it give him focus. “It was my idea. And Decker agreed.”

Planting the idea in Decker’s head had been surprisingly easy, in the end. The Colonel still hadn’t really interrogated him, hadn’t really had much interaction with him at all actually, and Face was starting to wonder if that was more from a sense of disinterest now he was under arrest, or more from a certain level of concern for his welfare. Decker was speaking to his doctors often and, although it appeared he wasn’t paying much attention, Face had had ample time to really study the man up close for the first time.

All he’d known of Decker was a few stories from Hannibal, back when they’d first found out just who was replacing Charissa at the head of the search for the team. An honourable man, Hannibal had always said, but determined. Strict sense of justice, no room for manoeuvre. Black and white. No shades of grey.

Watching Decker now, even as drugged as Face was, he’d seen the checks the older man had put into place before moving him late last night. The transfer had been smooth and relatively painless for Face, and he was starting to believe that the colonel really didn’t want him hurt any worse than he already was, despite his harsh words to both Angela and Charissa. It took a conman to recognise a conman, and Decker was a good one, Face could tell.

Speaking of Charissa, she marched straight over to his bedside, one hand dropped to rest on his left thigh. Not that he could feel it, of course, though he could see it, could see her hand pressing down, and that still made his head spin. No, he told himself. Don’t think about that right now. One thing at a time. Focus. 

“Face, why the hell would you want to do this? You know he’s told the world that you’re dead? You know that Han – that everyone will hear that?” She managed to cover her stumble there, but Angela’s brow creased in confusion, and in the far corner, Face saw his current guard shift a little on his seat.

“Hang on, babe,” he told Charissa with a false smile, calling over to the guard. “Dave, you mind giving us a moment?” Decker really shouldn’t leave him alone with impressionable young soldiers, they were far too easy to befriend. A few old war stories when he was relatively awake, a few tales of the Great Hannibal Smith, and they were putty in his hands.

Still, Dave didn’t look convinced. “You know I can’t, LT. I’m not supposed to step out of the room for anything.”

Damn those drugs; he’d cut back on the painkillers as much as could bear to, but he hadn’t really spent enough time talking to this young soldier yet. If only it had been Sam Manning, Face had spoken to him more often. “Old girlfriend, y’know. Just… come on, where am I gonna go?”

He could see both Angela and Charissa tense, but after a second Dave nodded once, brandishing his radio as if it was a phone. “Maybe I got to make a call, Faceman. Maybe I’ll be two minutes?”

“Thanks, man. Remind me to give you that number later.” The guard slipped silently from the room, and Face turned his attention back to Charissa. “He wants to apply for Ranger training. I said I could put him in touch with some people.”

“Forget the damn guard, Face. What the hell are you thinking? You know Hannibal will have heard this? That he’ll think you’ve died?” Her voice was a low hiss, and her anger was all too clear. “Give me his phone number now, and I’ll call him, tell him what’s really happening. He must be going out of his mind – ”

Steeling himself, hardening his heart, ignoring the pain in his back and chest as best he could, he told her, “No.”

“No? Just, no?” Leaning up slightly as he was, Face could see Charissa squeezing his leg, manicured nails digging into the thin hospital blanket. He still felt nothing. “Face, we don’t have much time. You have to let me help you.”

“You can’t,” he told her softly, stretching his hand down as far as the cuffs would let him, trying to reach for her hand. “And he can’t, either. Not now. Not when I’m like this.”

Even as angry as she clearly was, Charissa took the hint and quickly took his hand back in hers, warm fingers wrapping around his cold ones. “What are you talking about?” she whispered, and he could see the confusion in her beautiful brown eyes.

“None of you can help me,” he stated again, swallowing hard as the emotions he was fighting to keep back threatened to break free. “Look at me, sweetheart. Even without the handcuffs, I’m paralysed and under arrest. Hannibal can’t break me out this time, I won’t let him risk it. And even if he could…”

“He wouldn’t be able to take care of you like this,” Angela said softly, and Charissa visibly started, having obviously forgotten the doctor was still in the room. “You need to be in hospital for quite some time yet. More surgery, physical therapy, lots of medication… You can’t do that and be on the run.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, offering her a quick smile before turning back to Charissa, who was visibly a few shades paler than earlier. “Please. This is the only way.”

“The only way to do what, exactly?” Charissa leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “You’ll break his heart, you know that?”

Oh god, he knew that. He knew exactly what kind of hell Hannibal would be experiencing right now – it was his own worst nightmare, finding out his lover had died alone, without Face being able to hold him one last time. Without being able to tell him just how much he loved him, how much he had always loved him, ever since the first moment he laid eyes on his handsome silver-haired colonel. 

“It’s better this way,” Face murmured, closing his eyes for a second before forcing himself to look Charissa in the eye. He had to convince her, had to have her on board. “I’m not saying it would be better if I had died, but he has to believe that I have. He can’t rescue me, I can’t go on the run with him ever again, and it really would kill me if I knew he was back behind bars because of me.”

“Face… Templeton, you can’t seriously think…”

“I’ve done nothing but sleep and think since this happened.” Time was running out, and he was trying not to become desperate. “You want to help me? This is all you can do, Charissa. Help me protect him. Help me protect Murdock and BA – you know they will help him through it, keep him safe until he moves on.” Damn, but his voice breaks on those last words. 

The thought of Hannibal moving on, finding someone new, that just about crushed what little resolve he had, but then the thought of Hannibal having to tend to his shattered body, carrying him around from mission to mission, finding somewhere to park his wheelchair while they rescue a hostage or storm a building – that thought was so ridiculous and so far from the realm of possibility that he found renewed strength from somewhere. 

He really had thought long and hard about this. His initial reaction had been to think Hannibal wouldn’t want him anymore, wouldn’t love him like this, broken as he was. But he knew his colonel well, loved him so deeply, knew he was loved in return – yes, Hannibal would be devastated, but Face hoped his lover would still want him, still love him. He just couldn’t ask Hannibal to care for him like that. It was too much to ask of anyone, let alone a man on the run.

Angela suddenly took a sharp breath. “You’re together. You and that colonel of yours, Hannibal.”

Face turned to her, saw only surprise in her eyes, not pity or, god forbid, horror. No time or reason to beat around the bush, and his instincts told him she was one of the good guys. “Yes, we are. I love him. I have to protect him. I can’t ask him to – ”

“I think I understand, now.” The doctor smiled at him, a sad smile, before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “If I can help, I will,” she whispered against his skin. “I think you’re being very brave, Templeton.” And with that, she nodded once to Charissa before slipping quietly from the room. 

As the door closed behind her, Face could see his guard peering in, and knew his time was nearly up. He squeezed Charissa’s fingers as hard as he could, watched as she bit her lip, not willing to meet his gaze. He took as deep a breath as his broken ribs would allow, and spoke fast.

“Decker thinks Hannibal will turn up at the funeral, but he won’t, he’s too smart for that. Getting rid of the troops from the town won’t draw him out, either.” Hannibal and the guys won’t be captured; Face knew that, deep down in his soul. Not unless they tried to rescue him. “He’ll call you, soon, I expect. I need you to tell him it’s true. I need you to tell him I died.” 

She shook her head, sighed. “I can’t, Face. I can’t do that to the man. You think he won’t love you because you can’t walk? That he won’t wait for you, until you are more able to go on the run again?”

Of course she would see that, would focus on that element of his whole plan. But it isn’t about that, not really; as much as he can’t stand the thought of being a burden on his lover, he knew Hannibal would care for him if he could. But the truth was that he couldn’t, there simply was no way.

“No, I think he’ll love me as much as he always has.” So strange, to be talking like this with his ex-lover, the woman he’d thought he was going to marry. They would only have made each other miserable, he knew, but he still cared for her deeply. She was a strong woman, a commanding woman, and she could pull this off, if she wanted to. She was the one who would convince Hannibal for him. “But it isn’t fair to him, none of this. And I know he won’t be able to let me go, if he knows I’m alive. That isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t fair on you, either.” 

He gave in to the urge to vent a little, his voice louder as he let some of his growing anger out. “Nothing about this is fair. The fact that I’ll never walk again isn’t fair. Ten or more years behind bars seems like a walk in the park compared with that.” A tap at the door, Dave giving him a final warning before coming back in, and he forced those feelings back down. He couldn’t change anything, no one could. “Please, tell me you’ll think about it. Please, Charissa.”

“I’ll think about it.” Finally, she lifted her dark eyes to his, and he was startled to see the glisten of tears there. “No promises, Face. But I’ll think about it.”

She squeezed his hand one last time before pushing off the bed, walking straight out of the room without looking back. Face heard her tell the guard to go back in, but he had already squeezed his eyes tightly shut, letting the wave of emotion and pain he’d been fighting back wash over him at last. Never seeing Hannibal again, letting Hannibal think he was dead and buried… He didn’t think it was vain to know he would break his lover’s heart, but this way Hannibal would be alive and free, not trying to take care of a seriously injured lover while keeping the whole team together in an impossible situation. Face loved Hannibal enough to let him go, he knew that. 

So why did the thought of it hurt so damn much? 

* * *

Sosa sat in her rental car, staring at the blank screen of her mobile phone. She’d turned it off instinctively when she entered the hospital, years of habit impossible to break even if those warning signs weren’t on every single wall anymore. She should turn it back on, but she found she couldn’t. Not yet.

She’d told Face she would think about it, though her instincts told her it was a ridiculous idea, a dangerous idea. Face was still in so much pain, though he was hiding it well. He was on so many powerful drugs, he couldn’t possibly be thinking straight. There was no way he could have adjusted, after barely one week, to the idea of being in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. No way he could have thought this decision through, though time was hardly on his side with Decker lurking close.

But then, she found she had to admit that the rest of his arguments had made sense, in a strange, twisted sort of way. Doctor Ford had seen it, grasping the medical implications far faster than Sosa. Of course Face couldn’t go on the run right now. No one was suggesting that, but Sosa hadn’t even considered things from Hannibal’s point of view, as Face had. Could the colonel really stand back and watch from a distance as his lieutenant, his lover, completed rehab from behind bars, went through operation after operation in a prison infirmary, all without him?

And even when it was all over, when was Face was eventually released from prison – and Sosa would make sure she was among those pushing for an early release, a reduced sentence – could Face really go with Hannibal and the team ever again? She knew the thought of being a burden would be unbearable for her former lover, and she was certain that was a big part of his decision now. 

With Face in a wheelchair, how would the team cope? Could they cope at all, living the lives they do? Face had said Hannibal wouldn’t love him any less because of this, and she had to believe that – Face might seem superficial, with all his lotions and his tanning obsession, but she’d had enough years observing the two men from afar to see that their love for each other ran more than surface deep. Hannibal wouldn’t be able to let Face go, not if the colonel knew his lover was still alive.

So that left Face’s ridiculous idea. Let Hannibal think him dead; let his team grieve and try to move on without him. Make sure they stayed free, even if Face wasn’t.

“What do you think I should do?” Sosa had asked Angela, back in the safety of the elevator. The doctor had waited for her to emerge from Face’s room, though Decker was long gone. “I can’t do this, surely?”

“I honestly don’t think it’s my place to say.” Angela had sounded tired and sad, and Sosa had studied her carefully as the doctor continued. “I think he must love this man very much to try to protect him like this, even if it will hurt him terribly.”

“It doesn’t bother you, the whole – ?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Angela’s face softened a little. “My brother’s been married to his husband for nearly two years, though they’ve been together for more like ten. They’ve got close friends who met while serving together in the air force. Love is love, Charissa, and I think your Face must love his Hannibal very much.”

“He does.” Sosa had shaken her head, unable to believe she was having this conversation. Unable to believe she was even considering doing this. “They love each other very much. I can’t do this to him.”

“To Hannibal?”

“To Face. To either of them. I need to tell the truth, right?”

“Not for me to say, Captain.” The elevator doors had slid open, and Angela stepped out, leaving Sosa alone. But before the doors closed again, the older woman had shot out a hand to stop them, leaning back in. “I understand what he’s trying to do, I think. It’s not about trying to push his team away, it’s about trying to protect them. Whether that’s the right thing to do or not, I don’t know.”

So now, Sosa sat staring at her phone. She knew one thing for certain: the team would have heard the news by now. Hannibal would be calling everyone he could, refusing to believe it, not allowing himself to believe it, not until he saw a body.

He would be calling her, soon. If he hadn’t already. Once she turned her phone back on… She had to know what she was going to do, had to be ready.

Minutes ticked past, and still she swung back and forth. She owed no loyalty to Hannibal, no loyalty to Face, really, except their past relationship and the fact that she was one of the few who knew the truth about their ‘disgrace’. But Face was the one with her now. Face was the one who needed her, the one asking for her help. Not asking for himself, but to protect the man he loved.

Before she could think anymore, she hit the tiny button that would turn her phone on, watching as it cycled through its normal warm-up. Two text messages, from Washington friends wondering when she might be back in town. Five missed calls, all from withheld numbers. No voicemail, of course. 

With almost comic timing, the phone started ringing in her hand, and Sosa couldn’t stop herself jumping a little. She hit answer without thinking, and raised it cautiously to her ear, heart racing in her chest.

“This is Sosa.”

“It’s not true, right?” It took her a moment to place the voice; she had been expecting Hannibal. “It can’t be true, what they’re saying, ‘cos I’d know if he was dead, I’d feel it, and I don’t feel it so he can’t be dead which means it’s not true – ”

“Calm down, Murdock. Take a breath.” On the other end of the line, she could hear the pilot mumbling to himself, eventually tailing off into silence. “Is Hannibal there? Could I speak to him?”

“Starin’ at the telly. Hasn’t moved since they said – ” An ominous giggle, and Sosa felt her heart break a little for the man, Face’s best friend. “Please, just say it’s not true?”

“What about BA, Murdock? Is Bosco there?”

“Starin’ at Hannibal, starin’ at the telly.” Murdock’s voice got fainter, as if he’d moved the phone away from his mouth. “Watchin’ him, just in case he does… I don’t know, something. Bossman ain’t spoken, ain’t moved.”

“Oh god, Murdock…”

“Please. Tell me it’s not true? I need to know. I just… He’s not dead, right? ‘Cos I’d feel it, if he’d left me, left Hannibal…” A sob now, and then Sosa found herself speaking almost before she knew what she was saying.

“I’m so sorry, Murdock. Really. If I’d known any way to contact you… It was quick. He never woke up, after the accident.”

“They operated, they said they operated, can’t have been quick.” Murdock’s words were fast, hurried, disbelieving.

“He never woke up,” she said again, feeling unexpected tears prickling at the back of her eyes. This could so easily have been true. “They tried, Murdock. The doctors tried, they really did, but he never woke up. He never made it off the operating table.”

“No…” That one single, whispered word, a plea, just about broke her resolve. But then she thought of Face lying in his hospital bed, broken, asking for her help, and she managed to continue.

“He wasn’t in any pain, at the end. He never knew what happened.” She could give the man that much comfort, at least, as she broke his heart. “I’m so, so sorry. I know that’s meaningless, but I am.”

“He’s really dead? It’s really true?” Unintelligible muttering; Sosa picked out the words El Diablo, remembering the crazy pilot’s nickname for her. “Face is dead?”

She swallowed hard. “Let me talk to Hannibal, please, or to – ”

“He’s dead? Say it.” Murdock’s voice was suddenly firm and determined. “He’s not dead unless you say it. He’s not.”

And she took a deep breath. Once she’d said it, there could be no going back. 

“He died, Murdock. Face is dead.” Absolute silence on the phone, though as she concentrated she thought she could hear shaky, unsteady breathing. “Murdock, I’m sorry – ”

And the line went abruptly dead as the other man hung up on her without warning. Sosa stared at the suddenly blank screen as it seemed to mock her. No way to call him back. No way to speak to Hannibal, though what else she could say she had no idea. No way to take back her words, though she didn’t want to. Everything was about Face, now. 

For the first time since she’d received that call in the middle of the night, telling her Face had been critically injured and captured, Sosa let the tears come. They were hot tears of anger and frustration, tears for Face whose whole word had been turned upside down and inside out, tears for herself at having to do this. She was all he would have now. And she promised herself there and then, she wouldn’t let him down. Even if all she could do was watch as Decker took him away. 

* * *

Hannibal knew he should be doing something. Should be moving, planning, taking care of Murdock and BA. Should be doing anything other than just sitting, staring at the news channel as it cycled through the daily stories, through reports from Washington and international news, back to the same local reports. Back to the statement from Decker. Back to Face…

It couldn’t be true. Had to be a lie. No way to know, no way to do anything. They couldn’t leave the safe house, not yet, not with such a large military presence still in the town. Decker must be trying to draw them out, announcing he was leaving. Hannibal knew better than to fall for that.

But Face… What the statement said about Face, that couldn’t be true. Had to be a lie. Nothing he could do, no way to check. No mention even of what hospital they had taken his poor boy to, nothing about what injuries he had sustained, only that – Dear god, only that he hadn’t made it. And Hannibal found he couldn’t move, could barely breathe at that thought. Face had to be alive, had to have survived. 

The last time he’d seen his boy, they hadn’t even kissed goodbye. Of course they hadn’t; they’d been in full action mode, preparing to move into the quarry, already on the alert for anything resembling a trap. Face had thrown Hannibal a cocky grin over his shoulder as he’d left the van, and Hannibal had barely returned it, sending him off with a simple, “Be careful, kid.” 

He should have said ‘I love you’. Should have said it every minute of every day, because it was true. It was the only truth that mattered, to Hannibal, after so many years of swallowing his feelings down. They hadn’t even made love the night before the job, both exhausted, though they had slept as they always did, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Face resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his neck, their legs twined together. 

So many wasted years, both of them thinking the other was straight, thinking they were the only one feeling the way they felt. Hannibal remembered his first breath-taking sight of Face, nearly twenty years ago, standing on the edge of a muddy field, watching yet another group of wannabe Rangers being put through their paces. Nothing exciting happening, no drama on the field, until two young soldiers suddenly fell on each other, uncoordinated fists and feet flying as exhaustion pushed their frustration into anger. 

The fight was short and messy, clumsy, but before Hannibal and the other observers could get in to separate them, another wannabe had waded in and pulled them apart. Face had been covered head to toe in mud, limbs clearly quivering with his own exhaustion, but he had stood there between the two fighters, stopping them doing anything foolish until the supervisors pulled them away. The brightest blue eyes Hannibal had ever seen, smiling eyes watching Hannibal closely out of a mud spattered face. The boy had managed a swift salute and thrown in a wink before taking off running again, as the wannabes continued on their run, the two fighters hauled away and later thrown out of the training group. 

Hannibal had watched Face closely after that, seen how the boy shone brightly in everything he did, taking everything Ranger training had to throw at him and making it look easy. The kid was handsome, yes, ridiculously so, but he clearly hadn’t quite finished growing yet, skinny shoulders only just starting to fill out. Hannibal watched him through training, through his first few missions, watched him grow. Saw how incredibly smart the boy was, how he had everyone wrapped easily around his little finger, but how he let no one get too close. Fell in lust with the kid, then, as they spent time talking and getting to know each other, fell in love with him. Pulled the boy into his own unit as soon as he could get away with it, wanting to keep all those skills as close as he could.

Watched as Face slept with anything in a skirt, flirting his way around every base they were stationed in. Swallowed back his feelings, and settled for being a mentor and a friend. A brother, maybe – Hannibal certainly never considered himself a father figure for the beautiful man he watched Face grow into, not after too many sessions in the shower with his own hand, imagining his boy in his arms.

Now, the thought of never having Face in his arms again was almost too much to bear. It had to be a lie, it couldn’t be true. Hannibal had always worked on the theory that you never left a man behind. That, until you saw a body, they weren’t dead. So Face was alive, until he knew otherwise. Face had to be alive. Hannibal had to tell him, again, just how important he was. How Face was everything to him. Everything and more.

Face’s picture flashed up on the television screen again, though thankfully someone – BA? – had muted the sound long ago. The news channel had been running features on the A Team, talking about their dishonourable discharges, the way they had broken out of prison and gone on the run. No mention of Lynch, no mention that they were innocent. Lots of rumours reported as fact. Lots of statements from people they have helped over the years. Lots of military officers, some of them former friends, denouncing them as dangerous criminals.

Hannibal stared at his lover’s photo. They were using one of the last official military pictures, Face in his Class A uniform, beret slightly at the wrong angle, trying not to smile into the camera. Hint of stubble there – his boy hated shaving – curls peeking out from beneath that beret, just slightly too long. So handsome. Still breathtaking, even in his late-thirties. The most beautiful person, inside and out, that Hannibal had ever had the privilege to know.

How could this incredible man be gone from the world? To have died alone, in custody, in surgery no less – Hannibal clenched his jaw tight to keep his scream inside. It couldn’t be true. Face wasn’t dead. Not until he saw the body.

That beautiful body. Face had always looked like a work of art, taking so much pride in his appearance yet at the same time always so unsure of his own worth. Hannibal had always thought Face tried too hard, always trying to make himself invaluable so people wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t push him away. It had taken Hannibal a long time to get through enough of Face’s walls to realise the reasons why his lieutenant was like that. In all honesty, he had wondered exactly how Face had made it through Ranger training, with as many issues as the kid had. It was a sign of just how determined Face had been, and Hannibal had loved him all the more because of it.

The realisation that he was already thinking of Face in the past tense hit Hannibal hard. He knew he was in shock, knew he should be doing something, moving, planning, figuring out what to do next. He was aware, vaguely, that BA had barely left his side since they’d first heard that news report, that short written statement that Decker had released to the press that morning. He was aware, vaguely, of hearing Murdock on the phone, talking to someone, crying quietly in the background. But it was all Hannibal could do to keep breathing, right then. 

Flashes of memory, of Face over the years. Watching him grow into a remarkable soldier, an exceptionally talented sniper, a gifted conman… Watching him fall in love with Sosa, watching him get his heart broken when she turned down his proposal and took a job in Washington. Watching him with Murdock and BA, his two brothers. Seeing now, with hindsight, all the little signs Face had sent in his direction. All the little hints that his feelings of love might be returned. But Hannibal had got so used to keeping his feelings under wraps that he had stopped looking for signs. Until one night.

They’d been on the run for six months, struggling every step of the way. Their money situation was dire, they’d been struggling to find any kind of work, and Hannibal knew he had been pushing all his boys too hard. He’d had to, or so he’d thought, so intent on keeping them going and keeping them together that he hadn’t seen Face was reaching his breaking point. He’d gotten so used to Face always being able to get them what they needed, what Hannibal needed, that he hadn’t even realised how exhausted the kid was, until Face had virtually broken down in tears one night after Hannibal had made a snide remark about the kid finding them yet another filthy motel room.

Even today, Hannibal could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Face cry. The tears had stunned him to the core, and without thinking he’d swept the younger man into his arms, cradling that strong, perfect body to his chest, feeling Face cling to him desperately, muscles shaking with exhaustion. Without thinking, he’d murmured soft apologies and reassurances into his boy’s messy curls, pressing his lips to Face’s forehead. Without thinking, he’d used the words he’d only ever thought before. Sweetheart. Baby. Love.

Face had frozen in his arms, and Hannibal had been so sure he’d ruined everything. But then, wonder of wonders, Face had lifted his head, bright blue eyes filled with tears still, and held Hannibal’s gaze for a long second before calmly kissing him on the lips. And it was like they had always been kissing, always been together in that way. Hannibal finally felt complete, with Face in his arms at last.

And now, never again? It was almost too much to bear. He couldn’t have died, it simply wasn’t possible. Hannibal wouldn’t allow it. Not alone, not without one of the team by his side. Not this way, not hit by a jeep. Death was always a possibility in their line of work, something they acknowledged but never discussed, but Hannibal couldn’t accept it. Not like this. Not Face. Not his darling boy. Not like this.

“Boss?” It was Murdock, standing in front of him, blocking his view of the television. Face’s picture was gone again, and they were showing some war report from Afghanistan, or Pakistan, or somewhere like that, United States soldiers being interviewed. But Hannibal leaned around his pilot, trying to stare at the screen again. They would show his boy’s picture again soon. 

“Hannibal, man…” BA now, back at his side on the sofa, where he had been for most of the morning. “Hannibal, you hear us?”

“Boss, I called her.” Hannibal blinked hard, several times, until he could focus on Murdock. The pilot was pale, tears rolling down his face, but he was calm for the first time in days. They’d had to sedate him just to get him to rest, and barricade the front door to stop him tearing out and searching for his best friend. “I called Sosa.”

“No…” Hannibal’s voice was just a croak after a morning spent in silent denial, jaw clenched so tight it hurt just to move it. 

“Yes, sir. I did.” Murdock offered him the phone, and Hannibal took it without thinking, staring hard at the tiny piece of technology. “She said… She said it’s true, colonel. She’d know. They’d tell her, you know they would. Face is…”

Dropping the phone into his lap, Hannibal tried to pull himself together. These two boys needed him to be strong right now, though it felt that all his strength had left him. A fresh flood of tears poured from Murdock’s dark eyes, and Hannibal extended a hand to the younger man, pulling him close against his side. Murdock went gladly, pressing his head into Hannibal’s shoulder and wrapping skinny arms around his chest, letting his tears soak through the colonel’s thin t-shirt, though he was still strangely quiet.

On his other side, Hannibal felt rather than saw BA move closer, felt the weight of a heavily muscled arm wrap around his shoulders. Staring at the phone, now, rather than the television. Murdock had the right idea, maybe, or as right as anything could possibly be now, without Face. Sosa would know, of course she would. His lover’s former lover, one of the few who knew the truth about the team. If she had said it was true…

Holding Murdock close with one arm, feeling BA’s silent support, Hannibal dialled her number from memory. He had to hear it for himself. Had to know what had happened, what his poor boy had suffered through, without him. 

She answered the phone as she always did, though Hannibal thought he could hear tears in her voice. “This is Sosa.”

“It’s me,” he started, after a pause. “It’s true?”

“Hannibal… Yes. It’s true.” 

“I need to know everything.” He took a deep breath, let his gaze focus back on the television again as the endless news reports continued. “Please, tell me everything.”

And he listened as she talked, as she said the words he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to believe. Told him how Face had never woken up, a concussion keeping him unconscious and in no pain even as surgeons operated to stabilise his broken body. How he would have been paralysed had he lived. How he had gone into shock, slipped away quietly. How they had done everything they could. How she had been called, as his second emergency contact. How she was in town, though there was no way they could meet, not with Decker watching her like a hawk.

She didn’t waste her breath saying she was sorry, and he was glad. Sorry wouldn’t bring the love of his life back again. Sorry couldn’t fix Face’s broken body. Sorry couldn’t make this nightmare go away.

He spoke little, letting her talk, asking her only a few questions. Some she wouldn’t answer.

“Who was driving?” he growled. “Tell me the name.”

“I won’t do that.” Strength in her voice then, when before there had been an eerie calm. Hannibal supposed she had already begun to adjust; though he knew she had loved Face in her own way, years ago, he also knew she had been the one to walk away. Hannibal had taken a savage pleasure in her surprise when she had walked in on him bending Face backwards over a kitchen table, kissing him senseless, the last time they had all been together. Years ago now.

Sosa eventually ran out of words, and Hannibal ran out of questions. Nothing more to be said, really. Face was dead. Nothing else mattered. But then, as that thought crossed his mind, Murdock sniffled a little against his neck, pressing closer, and BA let his head drop onto Hannibal’s shoulder, his own stoic demeanour starting to crumble a little. This mattered, Hannibal realised even as his heart broke cleanly in two. These two boys still mattered.

Silence on the line, and he wondered if he should just hang up or if Sosa would go first. No good way to end it, no comfort either of them could offer the other. But, as he was about to turn off the phone, the female captain suddenly spoke up again. 

“I know this probably goes without saying, but don’t go to his funeral. Decker has… plans.”

“We won’t.” A sudden thought, tears finally starting to prick at his eyes, dry until now. “He was raised catholic, you know. I think he’d want… I mean, maybe you could…”

“I know. I’ll see it done.” And she would, Hannibal knew. He may not like the woman, not really, but she had been a loyal ally these last years. She would take care of his boy now, see him to his final rest. “I should go.”

“Goodbye, Charissa.” And without another word, Hannibal cut the connection, dropping the phone back into his lap and moving to wrap his free arm around BA. On the screen in front of him, Face’s photo was being displayed once more, his handsome lover. His deceased lover. And the tears finally came, the three of them crying together for their fallen comrade.

* * * 

It was a good turnout, Sosa couldn’t help thinking, though she felt like the world’s biggest fraud sitting in the front pew of the tiny church. Not only were they holding a funeral for a man who was very much alive, even if he was a shadow of his former self, but she had no right to be sitting here, in the place usually reserved for family and loved ones.

It made her sad to think that, without Hannibal and the team, she was the closest to either that Face had.

Decker had staged the funeral well, following the meagre instructions Face had on record. Hannibal had been right, Sosa had been pleased to see: a catholic service, though with certain prayers and rituals removed, in the small church attached to the orphanage where Face had spent most of his childhood.

A church now filled to the brim. In a strange way, Sosa found herself wishing Face could see this, could see how many lives he had touched. It was an odd mixture of military personnel, both current and former, and civilians, mostly those the team had helped since they had been on the run. Decker stood at the back of the church, while outside was an even greater mix of people.

Decker had obviously decided not to be subtle with the military presence, so the church was ringed by a fairly impenetrable cordon, all on guard for any appearance of Hannibal, Murdock or BA, or anyone looking like they might be wearing a disguise. 

Immediately outside the church stood a small group of protesters, respectfully silent, holding signs demanding the A Team be pardoned and the driver responsible for ‘killing’ Face be brought up on charges. More people the team had helped, or simply fans of justice, Sosa thought, feeling ashamed that she hadn’t really realised how much good the team had done. On the opposite side of the road stood a small bank of television cameras, reporters at the ready. Just in case. 

As the priest started the service, Sosa tuned out the familiar words – Face wasn’t the only one who had gone to catholic school – she thought again how ridiculous this was. In the nine days since Decker released his statement, Face had gone from strength to strength physically, his ribs knitting together well and his lung healing nicely, while the pain in his back had settled to a dull ache as the doctors found a better combination of painkillers for him. Mentally, however, Sosa thought he was struggling, starting to become a little too withdrawn for her liking, though she could hardly blame him. He had finally been transferred yesterday, over a week after Decker had originally wanted him moved, the delay thanks mainly to Angela Ford.

The doctor had refused to be here today, stating she had to work, but Sosa really thought the older woman was glad to have them out of her hair and her hospital. With Face finally transferred out of her care, her responsibilities were over and, despite her supportive words to Sosa and her fiercely protective stance over Face’s medical care, Sosa knew that the doctor hadn’t truly come to terms with the whole ‘fake death’ concept.

Sosa had struggled with it herself, though she was determined to do whatever Face asked. He hadn’t asked much of her, once he’d found out she was prepared to help him, and his tense body had visibly relaxed when she had told him she had done what he’d asked. He had nodded once before falling asleep, then they hadn’t mentioned it again. The injured man hadn’t asked even once about his ‘funeral’, and Sosa had actually been surprised to see Decker hadn’t taunted him with it either.

Perhaps the colonel did have a streak of humanity in him after all. Face’s handcuffs had been removed at last, though the ankle cuff had remained in place, and Decker seemed to actually listen to Doctor Ford when she had argued that it was far too soon to move Face, lecturing the colonel long and hard about complications that could still occur with such a severe spinal injury.

Sosa rose with the others when the priest asked them to stand, letting her gaze fall on the plain, empty coffin at the front of the church. This was such a farce; Face wasn’t dead. On top of that, no one here really knew him, not even her, and the only three people who did weren’t able to be here. Not even the priest had known him – every priest or nun who had known Face as a boy had long since either passed away or moved to a different church.

Face was on his way to his new life now, such as it was. There had been talk of taking him back to Pensacola, but too many people there might know him, and he had to stay ‘dead’ to the world. Sosa didn’t pretend to understand the complicated procedures Decker had set in motion, but she’d dealt with enough shady CIA operatives in her time to know there was always a loophole to be exploited. Templeton Peck may be officially dead, but his prison sentence still remained, even though it would be served under a different name, in a different jail.

He was on his way to Bragg rather than Pensacola, where no one would know him, and where they had extensive medical facilities in place to help him recover, as much as he ever would. Sosa had been present when Decker had given Face his personal assurance that his medical and rehabilitation needs would be met. Face had simply stared at the colonel and said nothing in reply.

As she sung the words of the final hymn, Face’s short funeral already drawing to a close, Sosa realised this was really a goodbye of sorts. She wouldn’t be able to visit him often in prison, wouldn’t be by his side everyday as she had been here. She wouldn’t be the one to try and help him find a way to cope with life in a wheelchair, or life behind bars, let alone life without Hannibal.

Their parting early yesterday had been mercifully brief, Decker and two other guards in the room along with Doctor Ford.

“So then, handsome,” Sosa had started, then stopped, a little lost for words.

“Hey…” She’d looked up to see Face watching her intently, that curiously blank look on his handsome features as it had been so often these last few days. “Don’t worry, okay?”

“I should be the one saying that to you.”

“Worrying won’t help. This is what has to happen next, for me.” He’d managed a half smile. “It is what it is.”

“If I can help at all, call me.” She squeezed his hand, hard. “I’ll visit when I can. And I’ll do whatever I can for you, to get your sentence cut.”

“You’ve done enough, really.” Smile gone again, he’d squeezed her hand in return, holding on for a long moment before deliberately letting go. “Thank you, Charissa. For everything.”

She hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, which seemed so final. Instead, she’d leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, just once. “Take care, Face.”

He’d whispered, “Stay beautiful.” 

And that had been that. Decker and the doctors had moved in, transferring him to a stretcher and sedating him for the long journey. She’d left then, not wanting to see him carried away in chains as those handcuffs appeared once more.

Now, as the service drew to a close, Sosa could feel Decker’s eyes boring into the back of her head. She was surprised the colonel hadn’t accompanied Face across country, but the chance to capture the rest of the A Team would be too great for him to pass up. Hannibal wouldn’t show, she knew that much. She hadn’t heard from the team again, not after Hannibal had called her back, sounding so completely numb and shattered that she almost hadn’t recognised his voice.

She stood in front of the empty coffin for a long time, after the rest of the funeral guests had left, and the military presence had faded away. She was catching a flight in an hour, heading back to her job and her life in DC, though a small part of her felt guilty for being able to continue her life while Face’s was irrevocably changed. She would do everything she could for him, but she couldn’t make him walk again, although she offered a small prayer to a god she didn’t really believe in. Just in case it helped.

On top of the empty coffin lay a simple bunch of flowers, a posy of elegant grasses and wildflowers tied with a thin white ribbon. Sosa hadn’t brought flowers, and she knew of no one else who would have sent any, except his team and his lover. Stepping closer, she read the unsigned card, recognising the neat handwriting.

Brother. Friend. Beloved.


	2. Chapter Two

“So how are you feeling today, Lieutenant? As well as can be expected, I hope.”

“Please, Father – just ‘Face’, remember? Not really a lieutenant anymore.” Face turned from his tiny, barred window as the prison chaplain came into his room. The older man had visited him more and more often since he’d arrived at Bragg more than eight months ago. A friendly face of sorts, amidst prison guards and medical staff.

“Forgive me, Face, please!” The chaplain settled himself in the single chair in Face’s small room with a smile. Part prison cell, part hospital room, even after all those months it still remained bare and impersonal, no pictures on the walls. “A habit I can’t break, it seems. Just a short visit today, I’m afraid – I have to leave for a few days.”

“I remember, Father. I’m glad you could find the time.”

“Always, my boy. And my first question still stands.”

Face had gotten very used to people asking him how he was feeling. So many people asked him every day: the doctors and nurses at Bragg’s infirmary, the surgeons at the nearby hospital who had performed three operations to fuse his shattered vertebrae and repair what nerve damage they could, his physios Dan and Robert who put him through his paces on a daily basis, the prison guards, the counsellor they made him see… Only with the chaplain was he really honest.

The question used to make him clam up, not wanting to reveal anything to anyone, least of all anyone in the prison system. But, after losing the first two weeks of his prison stay to a deep depression, then struggling through months of anger at the whole situation and how useless he felt, he’d finally felt the need to talk to someone, even if it was just to scream and shout.

The first time the chaplain had asked how Face was feeling, one day when he’d already been poked and prodded and questioned by too many different people, he’d calmly picked up a fork from his dinner tray before stabbing it into his own thigh. To the chaplain’s credit, he hadn’t flinched, calmly looking Face in the eye and saying, ‘Looks like that should hurt, but I’m guessing it doesn’t – is that a dramatic way of saying you’re feeling numb and a little angry?’

After a nurse had bandaged the tiny puncture wound – Face truly hadn’t felt a thing, starting to adjust slowly to being completely numb from the waist down – he had started to talk to the chaplain, and his visits had become very welcome.

“How am I feeling?” Face moved away from the window, wheeling himself very carefully across the small room to the chaplain’s side. “Still feel like I’m learning to drive all over again.”

The chaplain watched his slow progress, a genuine smile still on his face. “You’re making it look easy, believe me!”

“Hardly! And they never tell you how much it hurts your hands.” Face had managed to sweet-talk one of the nurses into bringing him a sturdy pair of fingerless gloves, which were helping, though he was still struggling to get used to steering himself around in his new wheelchair.

“Practise makes perfect, my boy. And you said yourself your physiotherapists told you it would be easier once you built up your upper body strength again.”

“Yes, and I am trying.” He was now; he hadn’t been before. For the longest time, after his depression had eased a little and his anger had started to fade, he hadn’t really cared much about his recovery. ‘Numb’ probably was the best word for it – he just couldn’t see the point.

Dan and Robert had worked hard, getting his shattered leg back into decent shape once the cast came off, then putting a lot of time into helping Face get used to sitting again. That was still a strange sensation, not really feeling what he was sitting on, and he had had to learn all sorts of new ways of using his core muscles, along with getting used to a sturdy back brace.

Sitting up had seemed a worthwhile goal, but getting into the wheelchair held no interest for him at all. He was in jail, indefinitely as the legal teams continued to argue, and the chair had seemed pointless. All he wanted to do was lie in his bed, or maybe sit in his bed, and think about how unfair everything was. How much he’d lost in one single moment; his freedom, his ability to walk, his friends, and his lover.

It still seemed so unfair, but Face had eventually found it just wasn’t in him to give up. He wallowed in self-pity for a while, screamed and swore at the medical staff when they tried to motivate him, but then one day it just seemed easier to do what they wanted. To try the wheelchair.

He’d always been a survivor, all his life, and Face thought this was just another thing he’d have to survive. The world may think he was dead, but he had no real desire to actually die, prison or no prison. Someday he’d have to face life outside the prison walls, even if that wouldn’t be for ten years or more, and he’d have to get used to the chair sooner or later. Nothing anyone could do would make him walk again, so he’d have to get over it. Somehow.

“It’s actually good to work out again,” Face told the chaplain honestly. Something else to focus on, something to keep his mind from thinking about Hannibal. He couldn’t think about Hannibal. “I used to love it; I was always in the gym, or lifting weights with the guys.”

“They’ve got facilities here you can use? In your chair?”

He nodded. “They adjusted some of the equipment for me, and Dan’s been working with me.”

The chaplain smiled again, crossing his legs at the knee. Face fought down the little surge of jealousy he still got sometimes, catching him off guard. He could cross his own legs, by lifting one with his hands and shifting it over the other. He was slowly getting used to the sight of them, pale and skinny where they had once been muscled and tanned. His whole body had changed, muscles wasting away from so long spent in bed, and he’d lost a lot of weight too, though his new regime in the gym would hopefully correct some of that. It was good to have a focus again, even a small one.

“I’m glad things are going better for you, Face. And now with the parole hearings… How are you feeling about that?” the chaplain asked, a little frown on his kind face.

That had been a shock, finding out the legal team were seriously considering releasing him after less than a year behind bars. ‘Dead’ as he was, perhaps the hassle involved in keeping him secret was too much to handle for a long period of time. Charissa, on her last visit two weeks ago, had been more of the opinion that they had finally agreed the team’s original sentences should have been forgotten, though they would never admit that officially, and Face was only serving time for escaping from jail. 

“I don’t think it’ll come to anything, if I’m honest,” Face admitted now. “I can’t see them just letting me go.”

“Don’t give up hope, son. You’ve come a long way these last few months. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, I’m sure.”

“But if they do let me go…” Hands on the wheels of his chair, Face rocked himself back and forwards a few inches, a habit he’d already picked up. “What the hell am I supposed to do? My discharge still stands; I have no money, nowhere to go. Nothing to do.”

“They’ll help with that, I’m sure. I certainly will.”

Face wasn’t so sure. So far, the army had certainly done everything they could for him, while at the same time keeping him securely locked up. His prison experience this time around had been very different from his experiences last time, due mainly to his injuries. Before, he’d known Hannibal would come for him eventually, and he’d thrown himself into making his life as easy as possible while he waited, getting his cell expanded, getting tanning booths installed, trading favours to get the food improved, making friends with the right people. He’d also had his work cut out taking care of Hannibal, BA and Murdock from afar, keeping them out of trouble and sending them what little luxuries he could.

This time, he’d done none of that. No point, really. 

He didn’t need a larger cell, not when he couldn’t move freely. The food was entirely average, but he’d not had much of an appetite until recently; a part of the depression, he knew. Tanning booths had also seemed pointless, although now he was starting to hate the sight of his skinny, pale body, and especially his withered legs. Maybe he could see about getting some tanning beds for the gym, and that thought made him realise again that he was a survivor. A survivor who needed a tan, he thought with a small smile.

But reality still weighed on him heavily. Perhaps he would be better off where he was, behind bars. There was a rhythm and a reason to life in jail, less time to sit and think than he had expected. Always someone close by, even if he was separated from his team. What kind of life could he make for himself outside the prison, alone and crippled? “Still, Father… I’ve got no one waiting for me out there, you know that.”

The chaplain frowned hard. “What about that pretty captain of yours? Sosa?”

Charissa had been true to her word, visiting as often as she could manage and speaking to him frequently on the phone. Face knew she was working with his legal team, pushing for these parole hearings, suggesting he should be offered compensation, even, for his injuries. He’d effectively been the victim of dangerous driving, though he knew how the military worked and expected nothing, not even an apology.

“She offered to let me stay with her,” Face told the chaplain now, enjoying the flash of surprise in the older man’s eyes. “When I get out. An ‘open offer’, she said, though I wouldn’t hold her to it.”

“Why not? Sounds like the perfect situation.”

“A whole lot of history there, and not much of it good.” Face shifted slightly in his chair, wincing as a small spasm of pain travelled up his back. He’d been sitting for too long, maybe, though he had to admit it felt good to be out of bed. “Though it’s nice to know she cares.”

“And what of your team?” Face carefully kept his expression blank as the chaplain continued. “They’re still on the run, and they still believe you died in the accident. How do you feel about that?”

“Come on, Father. We’re not having that conversation.” The chaplain always asked about the team, and, while Face knew he probably wasn’t passing notes back to Decker and his search team, he still had no desire to talk about them. Not when he missed them as much as he did. Not when he had to try hard not to think about them every minute of every day.

He had no doubt at all that he’d made the right decision all those months ago, though it still hurt like hell to know he’d never see them again. They were the only family he’d ever known, the three people he knew would never hurt him, and he felt terrible to think of the pain he’d put them through. Charissa hadn’t heard from them since he’d ‘died’, and Face wondered constantly how they were coping, where they were and what they were doing. He liked to picture them happy, imagining Murdock playing with his sock puppets and his invisible dog, thinking of BA tinkering contentedly with his van, and Hannibal…

Face missed Hannibal with every beat of his heart. Had his lover been able to come to terms with his death? Had he found some way to move on, after all these months? Hannibal, he knew, was a deeply practical man, unlikely to have spent long crying over Face’s death, even though he knew it would have cut the colonel to his soul. Knowing he had spared Hannibal the pain of seeing him in this wheelchair, the agony of knowing he couldn’t rescue Face this time… that was the only thing that kept Face going. He would love Hannibal until he died – there would be no moving on for him, only surviving.

The chaplain nodded slowly, accepting his words, and checked his watch. “I should go, I’m afraid. I have a transport to catch.” The older man looked closely at Face, frowning slightly. “Can I get someone for you, son? You’re a little pale.”

“Time for a nap, that’s all.” Face steered himself carefully over to his bed, positioning the chair parallel to the grab bar in place, locking the brakes on. “I’ve got more therapy later.”

The chaplain got to his feet, hovering close but managing not to reach out to help, while Face managed to haul himself out of the chair and onto the bed, lifting his lifeless legs onto the mattress one at a time and getting as comfortable as he could. Everything he’d always taken for granted, all the little moves he used to make without thinking about them, was so much more complicated now. He couldn’t imagine trying to live like this outside the prison, paralysed and confined to the wheelchair. The thought terrified him a little, though he knew he’d find a way to survive if he had to.

“Here.” The chaplain offered him one of the pill bottles from his bedside table, the mild painkillers he was allowed to keep in his room rather than locked away like most of his medication. “Don’t suffer when there’s no need for it, son.”

So similar to what Charissa had said to him, on one of those first days waking up after the accident. No need to be a hero anymore. No one to impress. 

“Thanks, Father,” he told the chaplain now, taking the little bottle and holding it in his hands. “I’m okay, really. It is what it is, right?”

“You say that a lot.”

“Well, yeah. I can’t change anything, can I?”

“Are you still angry about what happened?” The chaplain stood close by his bedside, watching him intently. “No one would blame you if you were.”

He thought about that for a moment. He had been angry, certainly, once the initial shock had worn off. But now, he didn’t know. “I don’t think so, Father. I know the driver was brought up on charges, reprimanded… I know the two kids survived, so it wasn’t for nothing, at least. That helps. And anger won’t change anything.”

“That’s a good attitude to have, Face. You’re right: it is what it is.” The chaplain smiled at him, nodded. “I’d best be off. I’ll be back on thursday; I’ll visit as soon as I can.”

“Have a safe trip, Father.” Face smiled back as the chaplain left, waiting until he heard the clang as the outer door of his two adjoining rooms was slammed and locked before letting the smile fall from his face.

Why had the chaplain had to ask about the team? Face had been working hard at pushing all his feelings of loss deep down inside, concentrating on finding some way to get his body back under some sort of control, dealing with the depression and the anger rather than pain of missing his team and his lover. 

They wouldn’t recognise him now. He was a different man, and not only because of his paralysis. He’d had to change his attitude to life, had to become more reliant on others. He didn’t know if he would ever be the same confident conman he had been. Doubted he was the same man Hannibal had fallen in love with.

Letting his head fall back into the thick pillows – the one luxury he had taken the effort to con – he closed his eyes, trying to force his feelings back into their box. He’d spared Hannibal the burden of coping with his shattered body, spared his lover the pain of watching him locked up without him. Charissa had asked him once if, when he was eventually released, he would try to get back in contact with the team, and he’d told her no, definitely not. He really wasn’t the same man anymore, no way to do the job the team did, no way to be any use to them now. And, as much as he still loved Hannibal, there was no way he could be the lover he used to be, physically incapable of that now. 

With a sigh, he unscrewed the little bottle in his hands and swallowed two painkillers dry, giving in to the growing ache in his lower back, knowing the pills would soon send him into a deep sleep for a couple of hours. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t dream of Hannibal, wouldn’t remember the way it had felt to be with his lover. Wouldn’t remember the way it felt to make love with his man. Wouldn’t remember the way it felt to be loved so deeply, to be held so tightly. 

As he started to drift off, he forced himself to smile. This was his life now, and would be for the foreseeable future. Hannibal was free, Murdock and BA too. Face could live with that. He had to.

* * *

He knew time was supposed to make things easier, that he was supposed to find a way to live with the pain, even if it would never go away completely. But as the months went past, Hannibal had found the opposite was true, at least for him. 

Time wasn’t helping. He still missed Face with every breath he took, still couldn’t believe his beautiful boy was gone from the world, gone from his life. Every morning he woke up and, for one blissful second, reached instinctively for his lover’s warm body, until reality crashed back down and his heart broke again. Face was dead and buried, and Hannibal was alone.

Except, he wasn’t alone, not really. Murdock and BA needed him still, each grieving as deeply as he was for their brother and comrade. Hannibal was so glad they had been there with him, especially those first terrible days and weeks, as they watched the coverage of Face’s funeral on the news, watched as Decker’s search for them really did wind down. For now, at least; Hannibal was under no illusions the other colonel would really stop hunting them, not any time soon.

Somehow, the three of them were managing to stagger through their new life without Face, keeping each other going, supporting each other when things got too much. For the first time in over a decade of working with these two men, Hannibal really appreciated just how much of a family they truly were. 

Murdock had been devastated by his best friend’s death, but he hadn’t retreated from reality altogether, as Hannibal had feared. There had been a period of deep depression, new nightmares and delusions for a time, but mostly Murdock had just cried, quietly, for days and days. Hannibal and BA had both let the pilot cuddle up to them whenever he needed to, and, for Hannibal at least, it had given him ample opportunity to cry his own tears of pain and loss. Even now, more than eight months later, Murdock had frequent nightmares where he saw the jeep hit Face, and he had taken to crawling into Hannibal’s bed for comfort, not necessarily seeking to be held, just needing to not be alone. Often, Hannibal didn’t even realise the younger man was there, until he woke up, reached for Face, and found Murdock curled in a ball on the far edge of the mattress instead.

BA had tried to be the strong, silent one of the group, trying to support Murdock however he needed, trying to force Hannibal to eat and drink when he just wanted to sit and weep. But not even the big guy could keep his feelings locked up inside. There were only so many cars he could take apart and put back together, only so many kitchen appliances he could fine-tune, and the grief had hit BA hard when it eventually caught up with him. He’d raged at the whole world, screaming and shouting, throwing tools against the wall in the garage of the safe-house they had retreated to when they’d eventually been able to leave town. Throwing a hammer through the window of his van. Smashing a whole box of lightbulbs, one at a time, on the concrete floor. 

Hannibal, alerted by the noise, had just stood and watched, waiting for the inevitable moment when BA crashed. It hadn’t taken long, and the younger man had fallen to his knees in the wreckage he had created, crying loud, unashamed sobs, muscular back heaving as he wept. The colonel had carefully knelt behind him, wrapping his arms around those shaking shoulders, and cried with him. So many tears, all of them.

Death was something they all knew was a possibility, but that didn’t make it any easier to cope with. Not when Face had died alone, away from them. Not when they hadn’t been able to see his body, or even to visit his grave yet, the possibility of surveillance a very real one. 

But gradually, slowly, they found their lives had to go on. Face would want them to go on, without him, Hannibal knew that. And what else could they do but keep going? Their money wouldn’t last forever, so jobs had to be found, taken on, completed. And things never got easier, but perhaps they did seem to stabilise gradually. Murdock crawled into Hannibal’s bed less often, when they were busy on a job, and BA threw fewer objects through glass windows.

Hannibal, though, never felt his pain got any less, and maybe he didn’t want it to. Face had been such a huge part of his life, for nearly twenty years, and his death was bound to leave a wound which would never heal. He would love and miss Face for the rest of his life, he knew that, but he owed it to his lover to carry on the work they had been doing, to try to make a difference in this cruel world. Even if nothing he did would ever be enough to stop the pain.

Murdock’s nightmares might be easier, but Hannibal’s certainly weren’t. Not knowing what his darling boy had gone through after the accident was haunting him still, despite having talked to Sosa and hearing her version of events. She’d said Face would have been paralysed had he lived, and Hannibal had dreams where Face was calling for him, trying to run to him but unable to move. He wished he could have seen his lover one last time, been by his side when he breathed his last, been able to offer some kind of comfort to the man he still loved more than life. 

So many unknown details, even now, not knowing what hospital he’d been taken to, not knowing how long he had survived after the accident. But calling Sosa ever again was, in Hannibal’s mind, unthinkable. So the questions remained unanswered, burning a hole through what was left of Hannibal’s heart.

“Think I’ve got one for us, Boss.” BA startled Hannibal out of his thoughts, speaking up from his position behind the laptop, a pile of scribbled notes beside him at the table. “Next job, maybe. But I don’t know.”

Hannibal sat up a little straighter in his armchair, resting his cigar carefully in the ashtray. Tried to be enthusiastic, or at least vaguely interested. “What you got, big guy? Talk to me.”

It had always been Face’s job, in the past, to search through the hundreds of appeals the team got, looking for the legitimate requests, the ones who really needed the A Team’s help. Face who had set up their discrete website and untraceable emails, Face who coordinated the subtle advertisements placed in select publications, Face who presented possibilities to Hannibal.

BA had taken on that role, while Murdock had tried to fill Face’s shoes when it came to conning and scheming – ‘supplies’, as Face had dubbed it, with that huge smile of his. Both men had had plenty of time to observe Face at work over the years, and they had always crossed over and helped each other before, so things had gone relatively smoothly. Not perfectly, of course, and none of them had truly realised just how much Face had always done for the team. How easy he had made it all look.

“Volunteer medical centre, does a lot of work with homeless and drug addicts. Attached to a bigger hospital, staffed by a lot of their doctors on their days off.” BA consulted his notes. “They’re bein’ targeted by some street gang, attacks on volunteers, medical supplies getting’ stolen. Hospital don’t want to know about it, local police keep turnin’ up too late. They ain’t makin’ it a priority.”

“Sounds like we could turn that around pretty quick,” Hannibal mused, brain already kicking into gear. They’d done work like this before, deterring gangs, although a volunteer centre… “Can they pay? Or does it look like a charity case?”

Not necessarily a deal breaker either way, just good to know, and BA looked back at his scribbled notes again before nodding, a small smile crossing his lips for just a moment. Smiles, for all of them, had been few and far between. “Nope, they say they can pay, though it won’t be much. They work with a lot of homeless teens, Hannibal. We should do this.”

“Show me.” As he started to read through the notes, a part of him still always expecting to see Face’s neat cursive handwriting rather than the corporal’s messy scrawl, he couldn’t help thinking that this would be a case his lover would have wanted them to take as well.

They each had their weaknesses, each had jobs that would become personal and matter more, and Hannibal didn’t necessarily think that was a bad thing. For him, it was often the charity cases that hit hardest, seeing people who literally had nowhere else to turn and no money to spare. Murdock had a soft spot for animals and the elderly, something Hannibal always assumed had come from being raised by his grandparents, though with their pilot it could be dangerous to assume anything. For BA, it was kids – it always amused Hannibal, watching their big muscular mechanic turn into a giggling child-minder at the drop of a hat – and the homeless, something he had always shared with Face.

Homeless teenagers would have had both BA and Face up in arms, Hannibal knew, and it would have been especially personal for his lover. Face had never said as much, but the colonel strongly suspected his boy had spent some time living rough when he was in his teens. Something Hannibal would never, now, find out for sure. Another secret Face had taken to his grave.

With a huge effort, he pushed thoughts of his boy aside, trying to concentrate on reading BA’s notes. A task which became infinitely more challenging when Murdock bounded in through the door and instantly draped himself over the back of Hannibal’s chair.

“Ooh, new job? Do I get to fly somethin’ this time?”

“Sorry, Murdock, probably not.” A plan already half-formed, Hannibal tried to head off the inevitable sulk by suggesting, “Maybe we can get you impersonating a doctor though. I know you always enjoy that.”

“Yeah, sounds good! White coat and all, right?”

Something caught Hannibal’s eye, and he dropped the papers into his lap. “BA, the town… Did you see where the medical centre is?”

BA hesitated before nodding slowly, dark eyes blinking rapidly. “Yeah, boss. I saw. That’s why I don’t know.”

Murdock came around the chair and climbed onto the table, perching himself cross-legged by BA’s laptop. “Where is it?” he asked, head tilted curiously to one side as he looked back and forth between the other two men.

“Not far from Forley, Murdock. A couple of towns over from where…” Hannibal couldn’t finish the sentence, swallowing hard. A couple of towns over from the quarry where Decker had ambushed them. A couple of towns over from where Face had been hit by a jeep. A couple of towns over from the accident that had killed his lover and virtually destroyed his team.

Silence fell over the room for a long moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts of their dead friend, before BA spoke up again, his deep voice soft, emotional. “It’s a good job, Hannibal. One we can do easily. One that needs doin’. And maybe… It might be good, goin’ back. Closure. Say our goodbyes.”

“Not to the quarry.” Murdock spoke up, shaking his head. “Can’t go back there, won’t go back.”

“I don’t know.” Hannibal felt numb again, the whole world shifting on its axis. “I never thought… I never expected to go back.”

Over the last few months they had taken jobs as far from California as they could, driving across the country and working out of some very small towns, often in the middle of nowhere. They had avoided the west coast as long as they could, maybe; Los Angeles and San Francisco had always offered them good jobs and easy shelter, but the thought of going back so soon didn’t sit right with Hannibal. Yes, Face was buried there, in a small graveyard near his old orphanage in LA, but Hannibal knew his lover wasn’t truly there, not anymore. Face was dead and gone, their memories of him all that remained, and going back… 

“Might do us all some good, bossman.” Murdock looked pale, eyes filled with tears again, but he held Hannibal’s gaze steadily. “If it’s a good job, I mean.”

“Closure…” Hannibal took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. Maybe this could be what they needed. Maybe this could help the pain of losing Face finally start to fade. Opening his eyes again, blinking away his own forming tears, he nodded. “Okay, let’s see. You got some contacts here, BA?”

“List on top, boss.” BA looked back at his laptop. “A volunteer, Jessica Haynes, and two doctors – Mike Holden, and Angela Ford.”

Still not quite willing to commit, though he knew they were all well on their way to taking the job, Hannibal picked up the phone. “Let’s see what they have to say for themselves. And then we’ll see.”

* * *

There was always something so depressing about a waiting room, especially when you had no idea how long you’d be waiting for, and even more so when all the furniture was bolted to the floor or the walls. Sosa checked her watch yet again and fought the urge to heave a sigh. Over two hours she’d been waiting now. Waiting for Face to be released from prison.

None of them, herself included, had expected it to happen this quickly, barely nine months after his arrest. She still half-expected someone to step through the doors and tell her it had all been a mistake, and they were keeping Face locked up.

Instead, he was currently going through all his parole paperwork, signing everything they told him to sign, and everything seemed to be taking twice as long as it should, complicated arrangements made even more complex due to the medical side of things. His doctors had to sign him off as fit-for-travel, or he wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere. The Face she had known all those years ago would have just walked out anyway, but now he was a changed man, quieter than she had ever seen him before. His spirit broken along with his back.

Staring as hard as she was at the heavy door which led deeper into the prison, she almost didn’t notice when the other door at the far end of the room swung open instead, and sharp military-precise footsteps marched across the room towards her. When she did look up, she tried hard to keep the surprise from her face.

“What are you doing here?” Remembering just who she was speaking to, she quickly added, “Sir.”

“What do you think I’m doing, Captain?” Decker tugged once on his uniform jacket to straighten it, before perching himself carefully on the edge of the seat opposite Sosa. “Heard they were letting him go. Wanted to be one of those sending him off.”

“He’s served his sentence, Colonel, and he’s long since been dishonourably discharged.” She studied the older man carefully, wondering just what his game might be. He’d visited Face a couple of times in the previous months, to everyone’s surprise, asking a few questions about Hannibal and the team. Face had told her it was almost as if he was going through the motions, not truly expecting any answers. “What more could you possibly want from him? Haven’t you done enough?”

Those dark eyes flashed briefly before settling again to a dull, piercing stare. “A man can’t watch another man being released early?”

Sosa thought carefully about her reply. Face was out of the army for life, but she was still very definitely Decker’s subordinate. It had taken everything she had to hang on to her rank and position after failing to recapture the A Team, and, although she cared deeply about Face, she wasn’t going to risk her career any more than she had to. 

“It’s a free world, Colonel,” she said slowly, turning her gaze away from Decker and back to the door Face would eventually come through. “And he will be a free man.”

“Relatively free,” Decker snapped back quickly. “You know the terms of his parole, of course. The change of identity and the restrictions placed on him.”

“Bad choice of words, sir. He’s in a wheelchair now; of course there are restrictions placed on him.”

A snort of laughter. “You know what I mean, Captain Sosa. Don’t try and get clever with me.”

She did know, all too well, the rules by which Face would have to live, the curfew he would have to obey, the appointments he would have to keep. To her surprise, he had agreed to everything without argument, though his legal team had fought on his behalf to get certain conditions relaxed.

She made sure she knew all the conditions of his release, as well as knowing as much of the medical side of things as she could possibly understand. She knew, just as Face did, that there would be no more significant improvements in his condition, not after the six-month marker had come and gone. But still, she’d made sure the prison doctors had talked to the new doctors and physiotherapists who would work with Face, when she got him home.

“Sorry, Colonel, Sir. I would never try to be clever.” Judging by Decker’s frown, he really didn’t believe her, but Sosa tried to keep her words just on the right side of sarcastic, not willing to antagonise him further. “I’m sure I understand the particulars of his release.”

“Good. We’ll be keeping a close eye on him, of course. Just in case.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out in case of what. Sosa knew Decker expected Face to try to get in contact with his old team, but she knew differently. “And that means we’ll be keeping a close eye on you too, Captain.”

That did come as a surprise. “Me? Sir, I’m sure I don’t – ”

“Come on, Sosa. He’s staying with you, right? In your house?” Decker leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on knees, trying to catch her eye.

“Yes, Sir. The lawyers agreed it was permissible, even with the new identity he’s been given.”

She knew Face hadn’t wanted to agree to her offer, knew it was the last thing he wanted, to be a burden on anyone. Given their past history, it probably wouldn’t be all that comfortable for either of them, but he literally had nothing now. No family, no friends, no job, no belongings. So far he’d refused virtually all help the army had offered him, with a few small exceptions, so she had been surprised when he accepted her offer at all. 

They were friends, almost, and they had each made it clear to the other that there were no expectations about a future relationship. Neither of them wanted the other one in that way, and Face was so obviously in mourning for his relationship with Hannibal that Sosa doubted he would ever move on. She was seeing someone from her office, an entirely casual relationship she cared little about, but she was confident she and Face would find some way to work things out. They’d both lived in rougher conditions than a shared house in Washington DC, certainly.

She’d moved last year from her town house out to the suburbs, a larger, older building that she was slowly renovating. Since she had the space to accommodate Face in his new wheelchair, it made sense for him to stay with her, and she just didn’t want him out there alone in the world. A portion of his compensation pay-out – he had been surprised, though she knew it was no less than he deserved – had already been spent getting a ramp for her front step, and setting up a ground-floor bedroom and useable bathroom. Everything was ready for him, or as ready as she could make it, at least.

“So, he’ll be staying under your roof,” Decker continued, still watching her closely. “That means you will be responsible for him, and we’ll be watching you. I’ll be watching you.”

“Is that meant to be a threat, Sir? Are you accusing me of something?” Silence from Decker, just a quirked eyebrow, and she continued slowly, carefully. “I’ve never assisted federal fugitives, and you’ve always known about my past relationship and friendship with Face – ”

“Anthony Jordan.”

“ – with Anthony. Besides, his team think he’s dead, and he won’t try to contact them. He doesn’t want to, not after everything he’s been through.”

Decker, to her surprise, nodded and sat back in his chair. “I can understand that, to some extent. It must be very hard for him.” To Sosa’s obviously disbelieving look, he continued, “I’m not a monster, Captain. I’m a soldier. I’m used to my body doing what I want. I can’t imagine going through what he’s having to deal with. Not being able to walk.”

Depression, pain, anger, and withdrawal from the world. Sosa had tried to help Face cope from afar, but he had pulled himself through the worst of it, natural born survivor that he was. She was worried about his passivity, how nothing seemed to upset him or get him excited, but just how much of that was down to being locked up in prison far from his lover, she honestly wasn’t sure.

Though she had never been in love the way Face loved Hannibal, Decker’s words struck a note with her; she just couldn’t imagine her body not working the way it always had. “That’s why he’s staying with me, Sir. I’m no nurse, and he doesn’t want to be taken care of, but he has no one else.”

“And that’s why I remain unconvinced he won’t eventually try to contact dear Johnny and the other two musketeers.” Decker’s professional mask seemed to slam back into place, those dark eyes emotionless once more. “And that’s why I’ll be watching you both closely. Former-lieutenant Peck, or should I say Mr Jordan, may have had his sentence dramatically reduced, but there are still outstanding warrants for Smith, Murdock and Baracus. And I will be the one to arrest them.”

Any response Sosa might have made was cut short by the sound of heavy locks turning, and the main door finally swung open to reveal two guards, and – 

“Face!” Sosa was on her feet instantly, lifting her jacket from the seat next to her, but cautious not to make any sudden movements in a high-security prison. “You okay?”

“Just peachy, princess.” A false smile on his pale face, he had to wait for the two guards to step aside before carefully wheeling himself through the narrow door towards her. His keen blue eyes clearly swept over Decker, but he chose to ignore the older man. “You been waiting long?”

“Not long.” Sosa forced her tone to stay neutral as she looked him over. It was still a shock to see him in the chair, to see him moving so slowly and carefully when once he had moved with so much grace. He was definitely pale, although that was perhaps understandable, and he’d let his hair grow out a little, caramel locks curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown a small beard, though it was neat and tidy, and she had to admit he was still a very handsome man.

His clothes, though, weren’t anything he would ever have worn before the accident, she knew that. Loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms, in a faded black, and a baggy sweater that did nothing to disguise the weight he had lost during his time behind bars. On his lap sat a small duffel bag containing everything he owned in the world, though even that was clearly half-empty. 

No sympathy or pity, Sosa reminded herself. He’d been very clear on that.

“Good, good.” Smile still in place, Face steered over to her as Decker got to his feet slowly. “I’m more than ready to get the hell out of here!”

“Van’s outside,” she told him. “Let’s hit the road!”

Decker stepped forward quite deliberately as Face tried to wheel past him, but the colonel said nothing, instead clearly waiting to be acknowledged. Sosa kept her eyes on Face as he moved as far as he could without running over the colonel’s foot, finally looking up and doing a very obvious double take.

“Decker, hi!” Face offered the older man a blinding smile, holding it for a full minute before moving his wheelchair forward another inch. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, Mr Jordan.” The Colonel folded his arms as he took a step back again, allowing Face the room to wheel past him towards the exit. Sosa rested her hand gently on the back of the chair but made no effort to actually push Face, somehow knowing he needed to do this by himself although his progress was still clearly slow and uncertain. But she also knew Decker wouldn’t leave it at that, and sure enough he added, “I’ll let you get going. But don’t forget: I’ll be watching.”

“Not very scary as threats go,” Face commented to Sosa, glancing up at her briefly, pointedly ignoring the colonel. “You think he worked on that line for a long time?”

“Laugh all you want. Just be careful.” With those parting words, Decker turned and retreated further into the prison, letting Sosa and Face continue to the exit unimpeded.

“An even worse line, right? Be careful of what, exactly?” Sosa murmured, trying to keep a straight face. The tension in the room, coupled with the weight of responsibility she now felt for this man, were both combining to make her want to giggle.

But Face said nothing, the mask he had worn for Decker fallen away now. Sosa watched his expression carefully as he paused in the doorway, his eyes blank and his mouth drawn into a tight line, and remembered just how hard this had to be for him. He was stepping into the unknown now, figuratively-speaking, alone and friendless with only her for company.

“Hey, handsome.” She moved her hand to his shoulder and squeezed the tight muscles gently, feeling the tension thrumming through his upper body. After a moment, he glanced up at her and she offered him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, you know. We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

Face still didn’t reply, but he visibly swallowed hard before nodding once and wheeling himself out of the prison with a determination Sosa hadn’t seen in him for a long time. For a moment she stood and watched him go, amazed that he was letting her see how he was really feeling, his understandable nerves at facing the outside world without his team and his lover, crippled for life. She was under no illusions that this would all go smoothly – living with him was going to be a challenge, she knew, but she was determined to make it work, remembering her decision all those months ago, to help Face however she could. 

As she followed his wheelchair out into the sunshine, she promised herself they would figure it out, together, Decker be damned. They would have to make it work, somehow. 

* * *

It still felt wrong to be back, like an itch at the back of Hannibal’s mind the whole time they worked, immersing themselves in their job, getting to know the staff and volunteers at the medical centre. The more the team had talked about it, the more Hannibal had known they were going to take the job, partly because it genuinely was a good job, and partly for the chance to come back. To try to say goodbye to Face, though there was no real way to do that.

Without even discussing it, they had taken the long route when driving into town, avoiding the nearby towns and the old quarry where their lives had been changed. They hadn’t visited this particular town last time, thankfully, so it was new ground for them all. No bad memories. Just that itch, always, reminding Hannibal that it was wrong to be here. Wrong not to have Face by his side and in his bed.

The problem didn’t seem any more complicated now they were on the ground, so to speak. A gang, as suspected, working to steal the medical supplies and not afraid to hurt the doctors or volunteers if they got in the way. The centre itself was run by passionate staff, but was sadly underfunded and undersupplied – every little they had made a huge difference, and it really was a job for the A Team. A solid problem they could focus on and fix, quickly.

Relatively quickly, at least. They were still doing some surveillance work, after a week where no attacks or thefts had occurred, figuring out what patterns might be at work, if it was just a local gang or part of something bigger. Murdock was posing as a doctor, wearing his white coat with pride, while Hannibal was ‘volunteering’ on night shifts, getting to know the staff and some of the regular users of the centre. BA had hit the streets, talking to people, blending in, setting himself up as being new in town and broke, with a possible drug habit to fund. Looking for a way into the gang itself.

Face would have been in his element, Hannibal couldn’t help thinking. So many people to talk to and charm. He would have relished any of the roles the team were playing, making them look so easy. He would have flirted with the pretty young volunteers, especially the kids home from college for the holidays, and flirted with the doctors too, even the older ones. Hannibal would have watched, amused, trusting his boy not to stray. Face had never strayed, not once they had got together. 

This job had been the first time Hannibal could bear to think about Face without wanting to cry, smiling instead to think how his lover would have known instinctively the right people to talk to, while instead it had taken BA over a week to find a way into the gang. 

Perhaps BA and Murdock had been right, Hannibal mused as he walked through the medical centre one evening. Perhaps they had needed to come back to the area. Even without going to the quarry – something that was completely unthinkable still, in Hannibal’s mind – and even being a few towns away from the little safe-house Face had arranged for them as his last act… Being back in the area felt wrong, yes, but it also felt a little right, like Hannibal was starting to breathe a little easier. Like he was closer to Face, somehow, being back. He still missed his darling boy, and he always would, but perhaps this was the beginning of the way forward, after so many months being lost in pain.

The medical centre wasn’t officially a shelter, but the volunteers also ran a soup kitchen of sorts, providing an old meeting room where the homeless could sleep undercover rather than out on the streets. There were piles of old blankets and a few donated sleeping bags, stored in a tiny closet, and Hannibal ran into Doctor Ford there as he returned from a quick check of the fire exits.

“Anything I can do to help, Doc?” he asked, noticing the doctor had her arms full and was trying to close the door up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching?” Doctor Ford finally managed to push the door closed, turning her back deliberately on Hannibal as he moved to take some of the blankets from her. “Observing? Seeing what happens?”

“I’m also supposed to be blending in,” Hannibal murmured, taking long strides to keep up with the shorter woman as she walked quickly ahead of him, carrying her bundle further into the centre. “I can fold blankets or wash dishes while I’m watching or observing.”

Doctor Ford stopped her rapid steps and turned slightly to stare at Hannibal for a long moment, and Hannibal stared right back. Even though the older doctor had been one of the group who had first contacted the team, she had always seemed the most reluctant, almost as if she knew the team could help but really didn’t want them there. The colonel thought that she might be regretting going along with their decision, and he wanted to keep a closer eye on her. She had been willing enough to answer his questions, certainly passionate about the centre and solving their problems, but she hadn’t been the most cooperative once Hannibal had actually started ‘working’ there with her. 

She had shown him the areas targeted by the thieves, and let him talk to some of the volunteers who had been attacked most recently, but she hadn’t been particularly talkative otherwise, unlike the younger Doctor Holden, who practically worshipped the ground the team walked on, and unlike Jess Haynes, an elderly volunteer who donated a fair amount of both time and money to keep the centre running. Everyone else had been more than cooperative, unknowingly – the team hadn’t gone in all guns blazing, choosing to work undercover at the busy centre rather than announcing themselves. They were still wanted criminals, after all, even if Decker wasn’t hot on their heels at that particular moment.

Hannibal soon found himself put to work by Doctor Ford, who took him at his word and gave him dishwashing duty. He spent most of the night working and watching, his radio in his jacket pocket in case either of his two boys ran into trouble. It was a weekday night, and the centre was relatively quiet for once, which put Hannibal on edge a little. It was the quiet nights when something usually happened, if anything was going to happen.

Even working and watching as he was, Hannibal found his mind wandered slightly as the hours passed by and, as they usually did, his thoughts drifted back to Face. His precious man was never far from his mind, and he had been closer than ever since the team arrived back in the area where he had died. The colonel gave up trying to think of anything else, and tried hard to focus on happier times with his boy, rather than dwelling on his terrible, lonely death. Weekends the two of them had spent together in bed, taking pleasure in each other’s bodies. Missions they had come through with a laugh, enjoying the adrenaline rush of a job well done. Quiet nights spent wrapped up in each other’s arms, not talking, just being close. 

“You all set, Mr Smith?” 

The unexpected voice made Hannibal start, his movements splashing the soapy water onto the floor as he realised he’d stopped washing up the last of the dishes. He hadn’t heard Doctor Ford approaching, and he should have. He had to get his head back in the game, and cleared his throat before replying, “Fine, Doc. You calling it a night already?”

“Calling it a morning, maybe.” The doctor stifled a yawn, checking her watch. “It’s nearly four in the morning, and I’m back on duty in the ICU at noon. My bed is calling me.”

“How do you do it? Work two jobs?” 

Doctor Ford shrugged, turning to leave. “It’s an exclusive hospital, and I think it’s good to give something back. Goodnight, Mr Smith.”

“Wait!” Hannibal pulled his hands out of the sink, quickly drying off on an old towel. Since the doctor had approached him first, he felt it might be a chance to speak to her a little more, to try to see why she was being difficult. Perhaps it was just her manner, but something told Hannibal that wasn’t the case. “Do we have a problem?”

“A problem?” The doctor’s tired blue-grey eyes seemed to harden just a fraction. “No problem, Mr Smith, except the obvious one for which you and your team were hired.”

“You don’t seem all that keen on me, or on having us here. A good idea in theory rather than in practise?” She wouldn’t be the first client they’d had who had changed her mind once the team started work.

But to his surprise, Doctor Ford shook her head, eyes softening, and motioned for Hannibal to come with her to a quieter corner of the room as one of the other volunteers hurried past. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate you being here,” she whispered. “I know you’re probably our last hope to get rid of this gang and keep the centre running. But in all honesty, I wasn’t in favour of approaching you at all.”

Hannibal frowned. “Can I ask why?”

“After all the trouble you and your team had here last year… Is it safe for you to be here? Will the military catch up with you?” 

That was about the last thing Hannibal had expected to hear, but he managed to keep his surprise from his face as he replied, “I appreciate the concern, Doctor, but we’ll be fine.”

But Doctor Ford continued. “After everything that happened, how have you all been? You lost one of your men, am I right?” That time, Hannibal knew his shock must have showed clearly, an image of Face hovering in his mind’s eye. “I mean, it was all over the news. Your second in command, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes.” Taking a deep breath, Hannibal forced his emotions back down. He had to be professional in front of the clients, even if the doctor hadn’t wanted them there. Her attitude made a little more sense now, at least. “It’s been… hard, of course. He’d been with me a long time, and to lose him like we did...”

“I’m sorry.” Doctor Ford stepped closer, reaching out to lay a hand on Hannibal’s arm and squeezing gently. Another yawn split her face, and Hannibal could see how tired she must be. “I shouldn’t have mentioned him, perhaps. I am glad you’re here, Mr Smith, but I don’t want you putting yourself at risk of capture. Or at risk of injury, for that matter. I’m sure Face wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Something about that rang alarm bells in Hannibal’s mind, but he managed to offer her a somewhat reassuring smile. “We’ll be careful, Doctor. We do this for a living, remember. And we’re the best at what we do. We’ll fix your gang problem, I promise.”

The doctor held his gaze another moment before nodding and, with a final squeeze to his arm, the shorter woman left the room, presumably headed home for her bed. Hannibal waited until he was sure she was gone before letting himself feel that swell of emotion once more, the unexpected sting of tears from hearing someone else say Face’s name. Someone not family.

Without thinking, he whispered into the silence of the room, “I miss you, Temp. So much.” Swallowing hard, shaking himself once, he headed out of the kitchen into the tiny entrance hall, where an old man suddenly staggered in through the main door, collapsing against the wall before Hannibal could get to his side.

Even as he called for help, lowering the frail body to the floor as gently as he could, something in the back of his mind continued to replay Doctor Ford’s words, over and over. Some gut instinct was screaming at him, even as a nurse ran to his side, and together they helped the old man to a bed, trying to ignore the smell of his unwashed body.

As he moved away, letting the medically trained volunteers take over, Hannibal suddenly realised what felt wrong. The doctor had called Face by his name. Perhaps she had really done her research before calling the team for help, or perhaps she remembered the unusual nickname from the news reports all those months ago. But she had known Face’s name, and that meant something else might be going on here. Though Hannibal had no idea what that something might be. 

* * *

It had all seemed like such a good idea, and even now Face couldn’t regret any of the decisions he had made. He knew they had all been made for the best, but that didn’t make things any easier for him. Not now. He dreamt of being able to run, dreamt of Hannibal and his friends, but dreams could never take him away from his reality.

What the hell was he supposed to do with his life now?

He told himself that he really didn’t regret his choices. Thinking back over everything that happened, there had simply been no other options available to him at any stage. Pushing the kids out of the way of the jeep, that had been a no-brainer, of course, but the earlier decisions? Face couldn’t help but question whether he could have tried harder to convince Hannibal not to go to the quarry that day.

It hadn’t been anything specific, more a gut feeling that something wasn’t right with the whole set up. He’d had plenty of time now to think about it and, even now, it wasn’t anything specific. Face didn’t blame Hannibal for not seeing it, for not having his own gut instinct. The team had few choices open to them at the time, after all, and they would have gotten away from Decker if Face hadn’t seen the children in danger. It wasn’t Hannibal’s fault, any more than it was Face’s.

It was just one of those things.

So, no wrong decisions up to that point. Afterwards, when he’d been in the hospital, Face had made his snap decision to let the world think him dead. To let Hannibal think he had died from his injuries. He’d had a lot of time, now, to think about that decision, and again, he couldn’t regret it, not really.

He missed Hannibal so much it hurt. Literally. With every spasm of pain from his abused back, with every twinge in his fingers from steering the damn chair the wrong way, with every ache of his weakened body he was reminded of what he’d lost. The love of his life.

If they’d still been in the Rangers and this had happened, Face knew there was no way Hannibal would have left his side. Face’s instincts would still have been the same, to push his lover away, desperate not to be a burden on the older man, but he knew in his heart that Hannibal wouldn’t ever have left him. Hannibal would rather have left the service, or taken a desk job, just to be with him. To care for him.

And Face would have had to watch a little bit of his incredible lover die every day, away from the action the colonel lived for. Away from all that ‘jazz’.

So, maybe it was for the best it had happened the way it had, while they were on the run. Face had been able to keep his lover free and running, and he couldn’t find it in himself to regret that decision. Hannibal had been spared the agony of having to leave him behind – no way for Face to go with him, no way they could have managed all the medical help he had needed, still needed – and Face had to be content with that.

But knowing all that, going through it one decision at a time, didn’t make this easier. Going to jail, going through further operations, going through rehab had all kept Face’s mind focussed away from Hannibal. Away from his lover, and away from his two best friends, brothers. But now…

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

“Face? You up yet?” Charissa, of course, his new house-mate. And wasn’t that still just ridiculous, Face thought. “Face?”

He was lying in his bed, in his new downstairs bedroom at Charissa’s, trying to find the energy to haul himself into his wheelchair and start his day, though there seemed little point. Even finding the energy to reply seemed beyond him, but when Charissa knocked gently on his door he managed to call, “Yeah?”

The door cracked open a few inches and Charissa’s face appeared in the gap. “Hey there. I’m off to work now. You know Kim’s coming this afternoon?”

“Yeah.” His new physio, an imposingly built woman who could probably have given BA a run for his money, judging by the ease with which she lifted Face’s mostly-useless body. “About three, she said.”

Charissa nodded, biting her lip, and Face waited for her to speak again, knowing what was probably coming. Sure enough – “If you wanted to go out for a bit, we could use some milk. And bread.”

“Yeah. Probably not.” He’d barely been out of the house since arriving two weeks ago. Hard enough to steer his damn chair around Charissa’s big, open-plan house. The thought of trying to negotiate the outside world was simply impossible. And what was the point of going out, anyway? What was he going to do? Where would he go?

Charissa said nothing else, narrowing her eyes at him before simply stepping back and closing his door. She hadn’t been pushing him, nor trying to coddle him, instead respecting his space and letting him deal with things as he wanted. She was sympathetic but not ridiculously so, and Face was incredibly glad she wasn’t trying to be his nursemaid. He needed somewhere to live, yes, but he didn’t need round-the-clock care.

Sharing a house with her was proving to be painless, so far. She was working long hours, pushing for another promotion, as well as seeing some guy who’d transferred in recently. Entirely casual, she’d told Face, as if he might care. He wasn’t jealous, not even remotely – he had no feelings for Charissa like that, no expectations of living with her other than a simple house-share. And, truth be told, Face was glad not to be completely on his own all the time. Her undemanding friendship was something of a blessing, in a life where blessings seemed few and far between.

He heard the front door slam as Charissa finally left for work, and heaved a huge sigh, stretching his arms high about his head and waiting for the twinge in his back that would tell him he’d pushed too hard. Movements were definitely growing easier, he had to admit, Kim’s punishing exercises building his upper body strength back up as well as strengthening his weakened back, even if nothing he did would ever let him stand on his own two feet again.

But still, he thought as he finally managed to haul himself upright, what was the point? All through his shower, sitting on his special chair, and while he laboriously got himself dressed, he tried to think positively. He wasn’t the first soldier ever to be paralysed, he knew. There were things he could do, jobs he could find, help available to him. He could make a fresh start, finally a free man, or as free as his parole conditions would let him be. He could make new friends, start to meet people again – he had always been a people person.

But what was the point? Face didn’t believe in lying to himself, even if he had spent most of his life lying to other people. He missed his old life, yes, missed the Rangers, and even missed the struggle of life on the run. He missed making a difference in people’s lives. He missed walking, running, moving under his own steam. But more than that, he missed his friends. His family. His lover.

Knowing that he had made the right decisions didn’t make it easier to miss Hannibal. Didn’t make it hurt any less. As Face slowly got himself some breakfast, forcing himself to eat something, all he could think about were images of Hannibal over the years. Almost twenty years they’d been together, even if only as colleagues for most of that time. Face knew he shouldn’t dwell on what he’d lost, but as he chewed slowly on the tasteless cereal Charissa insisted was good for him, he indulged himself. Just for a minute. That couldn’t hurt, right?

Remembered how it felt to lie in Hannibal’s strong arms, to rest all his weight on the older man’s firm body. Remembered the way Hannibal kissed him, always so demanding and full of passion, even when his lips were soft and gentle. Remembered how it felt to make love with his man, how Hannibal always made his body sing, whether they were in bed together or stealing a moment in a storage closet or tent, somewhere in the desert.

And that last thought brought Face back down to reality with a bump. He physically couldn’t do that, not anymore, everything from his waist down dead and useless. For a man who knew he thrived on physical contact, sex had been a huge part of his life – Face knew himself well enough to admit that. He missed the physical contact now, missed being held and touched by someone who cared, rather than the firm touch of Kim or the doctors. Even Charissa had stayed at arm’s length, apart from the occasional reassuring squeeze to his shoulder or hand trailed through his hair.

He didn’t really miss the sex, though he knew that might change one day. He missed Hannibal making love to him though, and again he had to think that maybe this really was for the best. Hannibal had always seemed to need that physical connection as much as Face did, and this way, with Face ‘dead’, Hannibal might be able to find someone else. Someday.

Face wouldn’t find anyone else now, he knew that. Who would want him like this, body shattered and trapped in his wheelchair? He was trying hard not to dwell on the physical changes he’d gone through, but he missed being able to walk, of course he did. More than that, he missed being able to run – of all the exercises they’d had to do, running had always been his escape, either alone with nothing but the wind in his hair, or together with Murdock or even the whole team, pushing his body and his legs as hard as he could. 

As he turned on his laptop, trying to turn his thoughts away from the lover he could never see again, and away from the legs that would never run again, he tried instead to think of something useful he could be doing with his life. He was a survivor, right? He could find a way to survive this. Even if he didn’t know where to start.

But his fingers typed in the familiar search and had hit ‘enter’ before he’d consciously realised it. He should be researching job possibilities, maybe looking at support organisations, online forums where he could share his experiences. But instead, yet again, he had searched for the A Team, tracking down the list of search results until he found the less-obvious websites he had set up for the team to use. Trying to figure out which jobs they might have accepted, spotting which requests were obviously fake requests from Decker or from bounty hunters. Wondering where they were and what they were doing. Hoping they were safe.

He should be doing something more productive. But what was the point?

* * *

“What aren’t you telling me, Doctor?”

Doctor Ford looked startled, almost dropping her clipboard onto the desk as she looked around for whoever had spoken. Hannibal folded his arms across his chest and kept his expression firm, though he felt inexplicably nervous, a feeling he hated and always fought against. The doctor’s eyes widened in surprise at seeing him standing in the middle of her ICU, and she quickly got to her feet before moving closer. 

“What on earth are you doing here, Mr Smith?” she hissed, taking his elbow and guiding him away from the central desk area towards a quieter corner. “I thought you were trying to keep a low profile?”

Hannibal carefully pulled his arm out of her grip before replying. “I am, and we are. But I need to know exactly what you aren’t telling me, and why you’ve been lying to me.”

“I… Look, Colonel…” Doctor Ford shook her head, starting to reach for Hannibal again but clearly thinking better of it. She glanced around at the bustling ICU before gesturing to a small office. “In here, please, if we’re going to talk.”

She guided him through the door, and Hannibal managed to wait until she had closed it firmly and turned back to him before demanding, “Well? I’m waiting. And bear in mind, if I don’t like the answers you give me, I’ll take my team and be gone. Right now.”

“Please, Colonel. There’s no need for that.” The older doctor sank into a chair, hands patting at her hair, checking on the tight bun she wore. A nervous habit, Hannibal recognised. “What’s brought this on?” she asked quietly. “Why do you think I’ve lied to you?”

Hannibal took a deep breath, unable and unwilling to explain everything he’d been through that morning. The unsettled feeling he’d been left with after talking to her in the early hours of the morning had stayed with him when he’d eventually left the medical centre in the cold grey light of dawn. He’d tried to sleep, or at least to rest, but his mind had turned over and over, trying to figure out what might be going on with Doctor Ford.

Her explanation that she hadn’t wanted the team to put themselves at risk rang true, in its own way. They’d had clients before who had been worried about them, and the Doctor seemed to genuinely care about both the centre and the people involved, so it made some sense that her concern would extend to the team. But Hannibal still couldn’t figure just how she had known his boy’s name. He knew he hadn’t mentioned Face, knew neither BA nor Murdock would have brought up their dead friend. So what could be going on?

Unable to sleep, he had eventually crawled back out from his bed, grabbing his car keys, phone and radio. Driving aimlessly at first, though always with one eye open for anyone who might be following him, Hannibal had found himself driving towards the quarry and slammed on his brakes, glad he was on a deserted road. The one place he’d thought he could never go back to.

But he’d come that far so, after sitting silently for almost thirty minutes, he eventually started the engine and drove forwards, trying to keep the memories from hitting him hard. Remembering the last time they had driven this road, all of them together. All his team together. His lover, his Face, with him where he belonged.

In the quarry, little had changed. Hannibal walked openly through the piles of rubble, along cracked concrete roads and past abandoned mineshafts, some openings having already collapsed. There was no trace of the military operation that had tried to capture the A Team all those months ago, the wind and rain having long ago swept away any tire-tracks or skid-marks from the accident. He tried to look at the whole scene objectively, dispassionately, but when he found the stretch of road where he’d last seen Face lying broken on the ground, even if he hadn’t known the still body belonged to his lover at the time, Hannibal had given in and let the tears come.

On his knees on the cold concrete, Hannibal cried again for all the pain Face must have gone through, without him. Sosa had told him his boy had never regained consciousness, never known what happened, but Hannibal didn’t know if he believed that. Perhaps Sosa had simply been trying to ease the blow of losing his lover, telling him what he wanted to hear. He cried for all the guilt he still felt, for not realising it had been a trap. He cried for his team, his two surviving boys, trying to piece their lives back together without their friend. 

He’d stayed there on the ground until his knees began to ache, reminding him once again that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. As he hauled himself back to his feet, trying to wipe away the tears which still flowed down his face, Hannibal felt a fresh breeze whisk up the dust around him, and then the sun suddenly appeared from behind a cloud, lighting up the quarry and reflecting off thousands of shattered rocks, illuminating each speck of dust. He wasn’t religious and he knew the effect was pure coincidence, but suddenly the abandoned quarry was a beautiful place. Suddenly, he started to feel that maybe this really was the beginning of letting Face go. Finding some peace of his own.

As he’d started the long, slow walk back to his car, Hannibal had felt his heart lighter than it had been in months. But with each step back towards the car, towards the medical centre that was the team’s current project, he’d started once more to wonder about Doctor Ford. She’d known about Face. And as well as working at the medical centre, she was a senior doctor at the intensive care ward of a very exclusive hospital.

Now, facing her in the small office, Hannibal pulled himself up to his full height, knowing how he was towering over the seated doctor. “Why do I think you’ve lied?” he repeated, careful not to raise his voice, keeping his words even. “You knew his name.”

After a pause, Doctor Ford shook her head, frowning. “Whose name? Colonel, Hannibal, I don’t know – ”

“Face.” He waited until he saw a moment of panic cross the woman’s face before continuing. “You knew his name. I’m sure it was never mentioned on the news reports, so there’s something else going on here. You know more about us than you’ve let on, Doctor, which means you’ve lied to me.”

“I haven’t lied,” the doctor hissed, a touch of anger in her voice now replacing the panic. “I told you I hadn’t been in favour of contacting you, which is true. I told you I am glad you’re here now, which is also true.”

“But Face – ”

“Face is the reason I didn’t want you here!” The moment the words left her mouth, Doctor Ford looked horrified. “I didn’t mean that, Colonel. Please…”

“Face is the reason?” Hannibal staggered backwards until the back of his knees hit a desk, and he sank down gratefully onto the surface. “Doctor Ford, you have to explain what’s going on. What do you know about my boy?” A sudden thought, almost stealing his breath away. “Oh my god, did you treat him?”

He knew he’d struck gold the moment Doctor Ford got to her feet and turned to leave, shaking her head. In two long steps he was across the room and blocking her way, leaning against the door as she tried to reach for the handle. 

“Get out of my way, Colonel, or I’ll call for security. You’ll be arrested.” Her whispered words carried little weight though, as she stepped back without a struggle, her pale eyes meeting Hannibal’s. 

“You said, last night, that Face wouldn’t have wanted that.” Hannibal watched her carefully, impressed by the way she managed to hold his gaze. He spoke slowly, deliberately. “How could you know what he would have wanted? Unless you treated him. You spoke to him, before he died.”

“Hannibal… I can’t, please…”

“Doctor Ford, Face was at my side for nearly twenty years. He was the closest friend I ever had, and I don’t know much about his last hours. That breaks my heart.” Despite his words, Hannibal tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, knowing that, if he started crying again he wouldn’t be able to stop. “If you know anything, if you were with him at all, at the end… Was he treated here?”

A pause before the doctor nodded once. “Yes. Though we’ve had to sign secrecy agreements – ”

“I don’t give a damn about secrecy agreements. You treated him?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“Were you with him? When he died?” Hannibal’s head was spinning. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, yet he was painfully aware time was short. The doctor would probably be missed soon. “Please, Doctor Ford. I need to know. I was told he never regained consciousness, but if you spoke to him…”

“I spoke to him.” A glint of tears now in those pale eyes, before the doctor turned and walked slowly back to her seat. “He loved you very much, Hannibal. And he only wanted to keep you safe.”

“He loved… Oh, Face. My boy.” The thought that Face in his final minutes had spoken of him, worried about him, was almost enough to send Hannibal crashing to his knees again. “What else did he say? Was he in a lot of pain at the end?”

Doctor Ford was shaking her head now, hard. “I can’t do this, Colonel. Please.”

“No. You can’t start to tell me this and then stop.” Hannibal crouched in front of her, seizing her shoulders and shaking her lightly until she looked up at him again. “I need to know. You said he loved me? Well, I loved him too, I still do. I will always love him. And I need to know what happened. I need to know everything.”

“It isn’t my story to tell you. If I could, I would.” Before Hannibal could shake her again, she added, “Everything he did, he did to protect you and keep you safe. You have to know that.”

He let his hands drop away from her shoulders, sitting back on his heels and breathing hard. “I don’t understand. Everything he did?” 

Doctor Ford leaned forward in her chair, pressing a soft kiss to Hannibal’s forehead. “I can’t tell you what you need to know,” she whispered. “But you know someone who can. You should call her.”

Before he could even try to get his head around her cryptic statement, she was up and gone, leaving him alone in the small office. He knew he couldn’t linger, knew it had been stupid to confront her here in the first place, but his questions seemed to be multiplying now. Rather than getting the answers he needed, rather than finding some sense of closure, he seemed to have found that everything he thought he understood about his lover’s death was wrong.

Sosa had lied to him, that was the bottom line, and Hannibal’s anger was growing rapidly out of control. No doubt in his mind who Doctor Ford had meant in her final words, and that meant the two women must have spoken. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and, for the first time in nearly a year, dialled Sosa’s number, but managed to stop himself before he hit ‘call’. This wasn’t the place to be having this conversation, he knew. He had to get somewhere safe, somewhere there was no chance of interruptions. Because he was going to rip her head off.

* * *

“I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me, Father.” Sosa leaned back in her chair, idly playing with the stapler on her desk. “I realise you must be busy.”

“Not at all, Captain.” The chaplain’s deep voice was warm and calming, even speaking over the telephone from his own office at Bragg. “I told Templet – Anthony, that I’d help him in any way I could.” A soft laugh. “I still can’t get used to his new name!”

“I tend to stick to ‘Face’,” she told him, careful to keep her voice low. She had an office of her own now, though sadly not a corner office just yet, but she was still wary of speaking Face’s name out loud. Decker and his team knew that Face was alive and living with her, but to the rest of the world Templeton Peck, the Faceman, was dead. 

Another laugh from the chaplain. “An unusual name, I admit, but that does seem easier. And I suppose it must be one familiar thing for him, at least. Apart from yourself, of course, Captain!”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Sosa dropped the stapler, picked up her pen and started to doodle on her notepad instead. “I was hoping I could ask your advice, Father. I know he talked to you a lot, when he was still in prison.”

“He did.” A pause. “I assume he isn’t coping quite as well now he’s out in the real world?”

“What makes you say that?” 

She could almost imagine the chaplain shrugging. “He didn’t expect to be released so soon, certainly. And he was always trying too hard to be fine with everything that happened to him.”

“’It is what it is’, right?” Sosa quoted Face’s oft-repeated catchphrase. His way of insisting he knew he couldn’t change anything and was completely at ease with that, even if those around him were far from convinced.

“Absolutely.”

She looked down at her doodle, realised she’d drawn a wheelchair, and threw her pen across the room in frustration. “I’m not his carer,” she told the chaplain. “I’m his friend, and I’ve been trying to let him deal with things in his own way, in his own time. Not trying to force him into anything.”

“That sounds sensible, given your past relationship.” Sosa couldn’t help but blush to think what Face might have said about her, but the chaplain continued quickly, and his tact made her realise why Face might have chosen this man to open up to. “But you’re struggling to know how best to help him?”

“That’s it exactly. Physically he’s doing well, and he’s more or less used to using the chair now. His new physiotherapist seems to be working out, too.” Seeing Kim’s no-nonsense attitude to her charge’s physical recovery was almost comical to see, the way she ordered Face around and he obeyed, although it did worry Sosa that Face didn’t even make the effort to flirt with her. “But mentally…”

“Not so good? To be honest, I’m not surprised.”

Before she could reply, Sosa’s mobile suddenly started ringing, and she had to scramble to find it beneath a pile of paperwork her assistant had dumped on her desk. Without even checking to see who was calling, she quickly hit ‘ignore’ before flicking it to ‘silent’.

“Sorry, Father,” she apologised, placing the mobile back on the desk. “Not so good, no. He’s barely left the house. I think he’s depressed and, to be completely honest, I just want to grab him and shake him.” Shake him, slap him, drag him out into the weak DC sunshine – she really wasn’t cut out to be a nurse. “At what point do I stop leaving him to his own devices, and tell him to start getting his damn act together? Sorry, Father, his darn act.”

Her mobile started vibrating on her desk as the chaplain laughed a big, booming laugh. A quick glance at the screen told her it was a withheld number, and again she hit ‘ignore’. Probably Graham, her current boyfriend – plaything? acquaintance? – wanting to see if they had plans for that night. She wasn’t yet sure where this thing with him was going – he was more than a little annoying, if she was honest, but he had one hell of a body and knew how to use it in bed.

Maybe she was getting too old to play games. Seeing how much Face missed Hannibal, even if he hadn’t so much as mentioned the colonel’s name, made her wonder if maybe she wanted to find that kind of love herself. But a quick glance at her desk calendar reminded her of the choice she made long ago, a choice she didn’t regret: to focus on her career. In the next month she had four foreign trips scheduled, assuming Face could cope alone, and she smiled ruefully – Graham would do for now.

The chaplain was speaking again, and Sosa turned her chair away from the desk to gaze out of her tiny window. She genuinely wanted his advice, rather than some anonymous counsellor. He had, after all, spent far more time with Face over the last few months than she had been able to.

“It must be very difficult for you,” the chaplain was saying. “As you say, you aren’t his carer, but you are in a fairly unique situation, being his friend and his housemate. His position is fairly unique as well, the chain of events he’s been through. If he is indeed depressed, I would normally suggest seeing a counsellor, but – ”

“Yeah, I tried that. He’s not up for it.” Face had thrown a cushion at her the one time she’d suggested it. At the time she’d caught it and thrown it back, and they’d laughed a little about it afterwards. She’d thought he was just being overly dramatic, but looking back now, she remembered with a shiver just how blank his eyes had been.

Her phone was buzzing yet again on the desk behind her, though it cut out sooner this time. After a few seconds it began buzzing again, and she frowned, wondering what the urgency could be.

“Under these circumstances, Captain, I think perhaps the time might have come to have some stern words with him.” A smile in the chaplain’s voice now. “Given what he’s told me about you, I’m sure you could get through to him, though I’m also sure he’ll fight you all the way. I should also add that you know him far better than I do, and I’m by no means a professional.”

She wasn’t at all sure just how well she really knew Face, not any more. He was a very different man from the one who had proposed to her all those years ago. 

“Still, you must have experience helping men through changes in their lives.” Two short buzzes from her phone this time, a text message perhaps? “He can’t have been the only injured soldier you’ve seen in prison?”

“He’s not, certainly, and I do have some experience. But part of the problem with Face must be knowing what, exactly, is bothering him the most. Is it his paralysis? Or does he miss his previous life? His team and his colonel?”

Something told Sosa she shouldn’t be ignoring her mobile, not when someone was clearly trying to get hold of her, and she gave in to the urge to check the screen. A text message indeed, and she loaded it up, still expecting it to be something from Graham – if he was getting clingy she really would have to end things with him – but it was from another withheld number.

answer your phone i will keep calling jhs

As soon as she’d read it, the mobile started buzzing again with an incoming call, a withheld number of course, and her heart started to beat fast. ‘jhs’ could only be one man. A man she hadn’t heard from in almost a year. A man who, if she was honest, she had never expected to hear from again, not after she had been the one to deliver the news that had to have shattered his world.

She suddenly remembered the chaplain was still on her office phone, waiting for her response. “Father, I’m so sorry,” she managed, still staring at her mobile as it continued to buzz quietly in her hands. “Something has come up – can I call you back?”

“Of course, Captain. Whenever you need to. Perhaps I could call Face, in the meantime? He may be willing to talk to me, and I did promise him I’d help however I could.”

“Actually, Father, that’s a great idea, if you’re sure you don’t mind.” Sosa quickly gave him her home number, before offering her apologies again and cutting the conversation short. She felt guilty for only a moment as she replaced her handset into its cradle.

In her hands, her mobile stopped buzzing as the withheld number hung up too, and she counted to ten before it started again. It had to be urgent, whatever it was, or Hannibal wouldn’t have taken the risk of calling her, let alone the risk of putting his initials to a text. That wasn’t exactly a code that would be hard to break if Decker ever saw her phone.

The thought of Decker made her pause just as she was about to answer the call. He was watching her, that was what he’d said, and while she strongly doubted he would have bugged her office, a sudden wash of paranoia made her very reluctant to speak to Hannibal anywhere in the building.

Hitting ‘ignore’ again, Sosa grabbed her jacket and bag before taking off at a fast walk for the elevators. She wanted to be well clear before she dealt with John ‘Hannibal’ Smith. For a moment her finger hovered over the ‘basement’ button, thinking she would get in her car and just drive, but nothing screamed suspicious quite like running out of her office and driving away. Instead, she headed out through the main lobby, grabbing a takeout coffee from the little cart by the front doors, and strolled as casually as she could to the park across the street, pulling her sunglasses from her bag. Just taking a break, nothing to see here.

All the while, her mobile kept alternately vibrating and cutting off. All the while, her heart felt like it would beat clean out of her chest.

Finally, she was settled on a bench, bag beside her, no one nearby. Ready to face whatever Hannibal had for her this time. Ready to face whatever disaster had befallen what remained of the A Team. She thought briefly of Face, back at her house in his wheelchair, and took a deep breath. The next time her mobile buzzed in her hand, she pressed ‘answer’, calmly lifting it to her ear. 

“This is Sosa.”

* * *

Hannibal was about ready to explode by the time Sosa finally answered her phone, after being sent to voicemail a dozen times and getting no answer to his text message. When she finally did pick up, hearing her cool voice nearly sent him straight over the edge, but he managed to rein in his anger, growling into the phone rather than shouting.

“And where the hell have you been, Captain?”

“Excuse me?” Anger instead of coldness in her voice now and, okay, maybe that hadn’t been the best greeting, but Hannibal was mad and he didn’t really care right now. “I’ve been at work. I am not at your beck and call, Colonel.”

“You couldn’t answer your phone?”

“Not in my office, no. Now what the hell is so desperate you took the risk of calling me? Repeatedly? And sending me a message?” The captain took an audible breath before asking, in a slightly calmer voice, “Are you all okay? Has something happened?”

Hannibal took a deep breath himself, knowing he had to play this conversation carefully. She had lied to him once already, about something vitally important. He couldn’t trust a single word that came out of her mouth. “Yes, something has happened. And no, I’m not okay.”

“Are you hurt?” Was that genuine concern in her voice? With a shake of his head, Hannibal dismissed that ridiculous thought.

“Depends on your definition,” he replied, pacing a little. He was in one of the alleys behind the hospital, near the ambulance bay, and a distant siren split the quiet of the day. “We took a new job, and I ran into someone who knows you. An intensive care doctor by the name of Angela Ford.”

Of all the reactions he’d expected, silence hadn’t been high on his list. But he had to remember that Sosa had much of the same training as he had, even without his years of practical experience. She hadn’t been nicknamed The Ice Queen in certain circles for nothing, although Hannibal had always quietly preferred Murdock’s nickname for her instead. El Diablo, indeed.

“We’ve spoken a little about certain events that happened here, around nine months ago,” he continued, keeping his voice low but letting his anger seep into each word. “Turns out, you didn’t tell me the whole truth, Captain. And I don’t like being lied to.”

When it came, Sosa’s voice was soft, a whisper almost, and Hannibal could tell she was trying to think fast. Trying to choose her words carefully. “What did she tell you?”

“For a start, she said Face did wake up, after surgery.” Tears started to blur his eyes, but Hannibal shook them off, angrily. He couldn’t break down now, not until he finally knew everything. “She spoke to him. She said everything he did, he did to protect me and keep me safe. She said he loved me.”

“Hannibal…” Emotion obvious in Sosa’s voice too, now, but that definitely couldn’t be right.

“You lied to me, Captain,” Hannibal spat into the phone. “I don’t like being played. You of all people should know that. And to lie to me about Face… About my poor boy…” His voice did break that time, those tears threatening to choke him, and he had to stop. Standing in the middle of that alley, the smell from the dumpsters filling the air, everything crashed down around him again. Face, dead and gone, suffering more than Hannibal had known. Awake and aware, not unconscious and pain-free as he’d been told. 

“Colonel, please…” Sosa’s voice in his ear, and as much as Hannibal wanted to shout at her, to scream at her, it was all he could do to breathe right then. So he listened as her soft words crossed the miles, filling his head. “I’m so sorry you had to find out like that. But I’m not sorry I lied to you. It was what Face wanted, and I agreed with his reasons. I still do.”

“What Face wanted?” Hannibal was incredulous, head spinning. “I don’t understand, Captain. What did he want?”

“He really was trying to protect you. He knew you couldn’t help him, and he didn’t want you to risk capture just to see him.” That tied in with what Doctor Ford had said, but in Hannibal’s mind it still didn’t add up. Not completely.

“So what really happened?” he asked, moving into the shadows as someone walked across the far end of the alley. “I told you I needed to know the truth, and you owe me that much, surely. You told me he never woke up, that he wasn’t in any pain.”

Her words were calm, straightforward. “He did wake up, and yes, he was in pain. He still is, though he’s getting better every day.” Wait, what? But before he could ask, she continued speaking, the words flowing out of her as if she’d been holding them in for months. “He’s not the same man, Hannibal. Not anymore. The last thing he wants is to be a burden on anyone. He knew then that you wouldn’t be able to walk away if you knew he was still alive, and he still feels the same way.”

Hannibal didn’t hear another word after that, although he was dimly aware that Sosa was still talking. The phone slipped from his hand to crash to the filthy floor of the alley, and all the colour seemed to drain from the world as he tried desperately to understand what she had said. Face was alive? How was that even possible?

Nothing made sense, all of a sudden, although very little had made sense these last months with Face gone from the world. To find out he was still alive, still in pain? Hannibal leaned back against the wall as the alley seemed to shift dizzyingly around him, then slid down to a crouch, dropping his head to his knees and breathing too fast. He couldn’t be alive, surely? There had been a funeral, Sosa had attended it, Sosa had told him his boy was dead. And now…

After minutes, or hours, or days, Hannibal managed to blink the world back into some sort of focus, the ringing in his ears fading to the point where he could hear Sosa’s tinny voice calling him, his mobile on the ground by his feet, mercifully still in one piece, the line still open.

Scooping it up in shaking hands, he brought it back to his ear. “I’m here,” he breathed, though his voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else. “I’m here.”

“You scared me, Colonel.” Sosa did actually sound worried, Hannibal realised. Probably her guilt over lying for so long. Face wouldn’t have wanted that, surely, no matter what she said now. “You okay? I know this must be hard – ”

“He’s alive?” 

A long, long pause, then Hannibal heard a whispered curse from the woman before she came back on the line. “You said you’d spoken to Doctor Ford? She told you, right?”

“Not everything, no,” he managed to reply, though his world still felt unsteady, unreal. “She said to talk to you. That you could tell me what I needed to know. He’s really alive?” Silence, and for one horrifying moment Hannibal thought she would hang up on him and be gone. “Please, Charissa, tell me. He’s really still alive? He didn’t die?”

“Yes, he’s alive, John. He didn’t die.” Her words now were slow, reluctant, but again she kept going. “It really was his decision, though Decker went along with it easily enough. He thought you’d go to the funeral, that he could capture you all in one go. But Face knew you were too clever for that, and I believed him.”

“I don’t understand,” Hannibal confessed, realising now that his world was blurred due to the tears filling his eyes. “He’s alive? Why would he want me to think that he – ? He wouldn’t want that. You’re still lying to me.”

“I’m not lying, John.” A hint of tears in Sosa’s voice too, unmistakable. “But I can’t tell you everything that went through his head when he made that decision. Only what I know.”

“And?”

“And he was badly hurt. He knew he’d be in hospital for a long time, knew you wouldn’t be able to care for him on the run. Knew he was under arrest – Decker had him handcuffed to the bed before he’d even woken up properly from surgery. And he wanted you safe.”

Hannibal hated himself for the sob that escaped his throat at those words. “I would have waited, as long as it took. I would have broken him out of whatever jail they put him in. Why would he choose to let me think… No, forget that, none of that matters right now. Where is he? What hospital? What jail?”

All he had wanted since that terrible day in the quarry was the chance to hold his boy once more. The chance to tell him he was loved, more than life itself. The chance to kiss him goodbye, like he should have done that last morning, before they walked into a trap.

And now, he had that chance. Part of him still thought he was dreaming, that he’d wake up alone in his bed, reaching for his lover and finding only empty space. But Sosa’s voice anchored him back to reality, even though her words made him want to scream again.

“No, Hannibal. I won’t tell you that.” 

Swiping the back of his hand brutally across his eyes, Hannibal let his anger and confusion take over for now. “How dare you, Captain? You’ve lied to me about the most important person in my life, broken my heart, put me through months of agony, and now you tell me he’s alive but you won’t tell me where? Just what the hell gives you the right – ?”

“It’s you that has no rights here, Colonel,” she shot back immediately. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done because Face asked me to. Everything I’ve done has been for him, and yes, a little bit for you, because there is no way you could have kept away if you knew he had survived that accident. You say you would’ve waited but I don’t believe you. You’ve never been one for patience.” 

Her anger with him seemed out of all proportion given her actions, but her words struck a painful note of truth somewhere deep inside Hannibal. Could he have waited, really? He certainly couldn’t wait now; he had to see Face, had to know once and for all that his boy was really alive.

“I’ll find him, you know I will. I’ll call everyone I can, every contact I’ve ever made – ”

“All you’ll find is a death certificate. Templeton Peck officially did die that day; he has a new life now, a different life, a different identity.” Sosa heaved a sigh down the phone, clearly trying to calm herself. “He didn’t want you to know, Hannibal. You have to respect that. You have to let him go.”

“He doesn’t love me anymore? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” As painful a thought as that was, Hannibal might have been willing to try to move on if he really believed that, but he’d have to hear it from his precious boy’s own mouth first. 

Another pause, almost as if Sosa was considering lying to him once more, but Hannibal recognised the distinct ring of truth in her voice when she eventually spoke again. “No, that’s not the case. I know he still loves you. He misses you.”

“I’ve missed him too, so much.” Hannibal tried to get his thoughts together, knowing there had to be a way to reach her, to make her see how much he needed Face. “Please, Charissa. These last months have been hell, thinking he died alone, so far from my side. I have to see him, have to see for my own eyes that he’s alive.”

“That isn’t a decision I can make,” she replied eventually. “I have to talk to him, to find out what he wants to do. And whatever he decides, I’ll support him.”

She had always been fiercely loyal, Hannibal knew that. For her to have kept this secret for so long... “Please, tell him… Just tell him I love him, and I miss him, and that nothing else matters. Whatever his injuries are, if thinks I can’t break him out of jail – nothing is important, we’ll find a way to cope with it.”

“I’ll talk to him,” she repeated, and then there was another silence. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

“Sorry I found out like this, or sorry I found out at all?” 

A short, sharp laugh. “You got me there. Call me back in an hour, okay?” And without another word, she had hung up. Gone.

Leaving Hannibal sitting on the floor of a filthy alley, chest tight and heart hurting, unable to believe what had just happened. He should move, he knew. Should go back to Doctor Ford, shake more answers out of her. Or maybe, somehow, put this out of his mind and get back to work – BA thought the gang were working up to another raid, maybe as soon as tonight.

But all he could do was sit there, mobile hanging limply in his hand, tears still rolling down his face, and, despite it all, he found he was smiling. Face was alive. Really, truly alive. And the world seemed a little brighter, the shadows retreating and the sun blazing – wherever he was, whatever he’d been through, whatever his reasoning, Hannibal would find him. 

And never let him go again.

* * *

Face was surprised by just how much talking to the chaplain had helped. Although they had only been on the phone for barely quarter of an hour, he’d found it a relief to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge him, someone who would just listen, but someone who knew him, a little. His problem with talking to a counsellor, of any description, was always the fact that they didn’t know him or his situation. How could they expect to understand what he was going through, let alone help him deal with it?

Similarly, talking to Charissa seemed fairly pointless. Yes, she knew the situation, and she had been there for him all the way. But she was almost too involved, too close to him. Face knew she would struggle to be objective, although he didn’t doubt she only wanted the best for him

But the chaplain did know him, and knew his situation. Knew about the team he’d left behind, the team that were still on the run. Admittedly, he didn’t know that Face and Hannibal had been lovers, but the chaplain certainly knew just how important the colonel was to him, and how long they had worked together. And he was just distant enough, just a comforting voice on the telephone, that Face didn’t mind talking so much.

He nearly hadn’t answered the phone when it rang, so certain it wouldn’t be for him. But then, he’d thought it might be Charissa calling for some reason, so he’d dragged himself away from his laptop and picked up. To his surprise, it had been the chaplain from Bragg, just wondering how he was doing, and before he knew it he’d been pouring everything out. And the older man had listened, made one or two suggestions, and arranged a time to speak for longer, later that afternoon, after a meeting he had to attend. 

Now, Face felt almost enthusiastic, ready to try to make some changes and find a way forwards. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he was over his depression already, but the chaplain had made some valid points, things Face had already known for himself. Sometimes, though, it took an outsider to shine a light on the most obvious things. Maybe he’d just needed a kick in the backside.

It was turning out to be a morning of surprises, as he suddenly heard a key in the front door. Wheeling himself from the kitchen through to the main living room, he fought down the old urge to grab a gun and be prepared for anything. But the only person who had a key other than him was Charissa, and sure enough, his housemate swung open the door and hurried inside, looking more than a little dishevelled for a woman who was always immaculately dressed.

“Charissa? You okay?” Face wheeled closer still, watching as she closed the door behind herself quickly, tossing her keys into the pot on the side. “Something happened?”

“You could say that,” came the short reply, as she pushed past him, headed back through the house towards the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

He followed her slowly, pausing in the doorway as she dropped her oversized handbag onto the table before slipping her jacket off and hanging it over the back of a chair. “I know,” he told her, sure he knew what she was getting at. The chaplain hadn’t said as much, but Face wouldn’t be surprised if it had been his friend who asked him to call. “I owe you an apology.”

That stopped Charissa in her tracks as she was filling the kettle at the sink, and she half-turned to face him. “An apology for what?” she asked, confusion clear in her voice.

“For being such a grump. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with so far, and I really do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” He steered slowly into the room, pulling up to the table and resting his hands on the smooth surface. “It’s all just been… harder than I thought.”

“Face…” Charissa shook her head slowly, that thin-lipped smile of hers on her lips. “I never expected you to be the easiest person to live with, especially given what you’ve been through.”

“Still, I should be trying harder. I expected Hannibal to move on, but I never gave any thought to how I was going to move on.” He swallowed hard, knowing he needed to say all this, even though he still found it hard to be so open about his emotions. “I’ve been feeling like this is all pointless. Like, what kind of life can I possibly have now?”

“Don’t say that.” Charissa slammed the kettle on with far more force than was required before turning to him, leaning back against the kitchen units rather than taking a seat. “It isn’t pointless. It’s just different, and you have to find a way to cope with that. You have to find a way to let me help you. But, look, there’s something – ” 

“I know it isn’t pointless,” he interrupted, ignoring the way she shook her head again in obvious frustration. “I do know. And, I’m going to work on it. I promise.” He laughed softly, waving one hand over his shoulder in the direction of the front door. “I was actually going to go get that milk you wanted. But, since you’re home, I don’t know. You want to come with me?”

The kettle whistled noisily as it boiled, and Charissa turned away to start making tea for them both. Face had been surprised, when he moved in, to discover that at home she was more of a tea drinker than a coffee drinker, except for the morning after a very late night, and he had quickly adapted. Caffeine was caffeine, at the end of the day. And no one made coffee quite like Hannibal, anyway. 

“I’m really happy to hear you say that, Face. I’ve been worried, I have to admit, but I didn’t… I don’t know where the line is, with us, living together like this.” Charissa took an audible deep breath, and Face realised again how hard this must have been on her, too. Neither of them were good at talking about their emotions. “And I’m so glad to hear you say you’ll work on it, on being more positive. But something has happened, something that will change everything all over again.”

He frowned as she turned to the table and pulled out a chair, accepted the steaming mug she offered him. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

She took a sip of her tea before answering. “I had a phone call.”

Immediately, thoughts started flying through his head. She was home in the middle of the day; of course something had happened. Was she being reassigned? Fired? Was he being recalled to prison? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had followed his parole conditions to the letter.

“A phone call from who?” he asked, when she paused for far too long. “Charissa, a call from who?”

Her dark brown eyes finally lifted to meet his, and she looked so worried that he felt his heart lurch in his chest. “From Hannibal.”

“Is he okay?” Head reeling, worse case scenarios started spinning through his head, replacing those worries about her job and his parole. Murdock or BA injured or dead, Hannibal or any of them captured. “What happened?”

“Face, honey…” He watched as she straightened in her chair, visibly pulling herself together. “He knows.”

“Knows what?” An instant reply, although as the words left his mouth, her meaning registered with his brain. But he couldn’t know, surely, there was no way…

“He knows you’re alive. And he knows it was your choice to let him think you were dead.” Suddenly feeling cold and shaky, he listened as Charissa quickly talked him through the awkward conversation she had been through, not hiding anything from him. He groaned internally when she admitted she had been the one to let slip the fact Face was alive, assuming Angela Ford had told Hannibal everything already, but he couldn’t blame her for that. Turned out, the doctor had kept her word, for the most part, guarding his secret as best she could.

“He’s going to call you back?” he asked eventually, when she seemed to have reached the end of her story.

“Yes.” Charissa nodded, checking her watch before wrapping both hands tightly around her mug. “In about twenty five minutes. I told him I’d have to talk to you before going any further. That you would decide what to do, and I would support you, whatever.”

“I don’t even know…” he started, voice fading out as he struggled to deal with his world shifting yet again. “This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to know.” A sudden, horrible thought. “Oh god, Charissa. How did he take it?”

“How the hell do you think he took it, Face?” Anger in his friend’s voice now, and that was understandable, perhaps. She’d been put in a difficult position, yet again. “He was shocked, stunned. Upset, certainly – I could hear him trying not to cry. Angry.”

“At me?”

“At me, mostly, for being the one to lie to him. Though I’m sure, once he gets over the shock, he’ll be pissed at you too.”

Face nodded slowly, trying to organise his thoughts, somehow. Hannibal was never supposed to know. He was supposed to move on with his life, to stay free, to keep helping the helpless, protecting the underdog. He wasn’t supposed to be hurt like this, and Face knew he would be hurting desperately right now, confused and angry.

Charissa was watching him carefully, dark eyes flashing with emotion. She had always had the most beautiful eyes, Face thought randomly, though staring at her now he wished she was far away, and that he was staring instead into a pair of pale blue-grey eyes. Hannibal’s eyes.

As the precious minutes ticked away, Charissa reached across the table and took his hand in her own, squeezing gently. Instinctively, he wrapped his fingers around hers as she asked, “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” He laughed, a humourless, dry laugh. “Turn back the clock and stop him finding out?”

“Cat’s out of the bag on that one, I’m afraid. You must have thought this might happen, somewhere down the line?” 

Maybe he should have done. Hannibal would box his ears for that – failing to plan even one step ahead, let alone three steps. And the thought of his lover brought tears to Face’s eyes, emotion starting to replace the shock. What had he done to the man he loved?

“He was never meant to know,” he said again, trying to think, looking at the clock on the wall. About eighteen minutes to go. Hannibal would be punctual, he knew that much. “You couldn’t have told him to call back tomorrow?”

“I think he would have been on a plane and on his way here if I’d even suggested it.”

Of course he would have. Even if he didn’t know exactly where Face was, Hannibal would have gone to Charissa, to confront her face-to-face. “I really don’t know what to do,” he whispered, and she held his hand even tighter. “Any suggestions?”

“I think… You have to talk to him, Face, he has to hear your voice.” Even as he started shaking his head, she kept talking, voice firm and unyielding. “He’s spent the last nine months grieving for you, thinking you died alone in a hospital, after getting caught in a trap he didn’t see. Now he finds out you’ve been alive all this time, but that you didn’t want him to know. And he doesn’t understand.”

“Charissa, I can’t…”

“I don’t care. You have to.” Her face softened, and she heaved a long sigh. “This is all such a mess, I know it is. I don’t know if you need to tell him to stay away, explain everything the way you told me, back in the hospital. I don’t think he knows the extent of your injuries – I certainly didn’t tell him about the wheelchair, but I don’t know about what Angela might have said.”

“How can I tell him about this? Where would I even start?” Face took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. A part of him was starting to be glad Hannibal knew – maybe he could see his lover again, one last time, and Charissa’s next words seemed to suggest the same.

“He wants to see you, Face, and I can’t say I blame him. He won’t believe this until he sees it with his own eyes.”

Thoughts racing, Face kept coming back to the same block. As much as he might want to see Hannibal, nothing had changed. He was crippled; he could never go on the run with the team again. And he knew Hannibal would never agree to stay away, to leave him behind, unless – “What if I tell him I don’t love him anymore? Push him away?”

“He’ll still want to see you. And I don’t think even you could pull off that scam once you set eyes on him again after so long.”

Closing his eyes tightly, Face let his head drop forward, breathing hard. This should never have happened. Just as he was starting to feel he could find a way through the depression, adjust to life as a paralysed man, try to find a way through this strange new world he was living in… 

“How long do I have?” he breathed, eyes still closed.

A long pause before Charissa answered, her own voice soft but her hand in his still firm. “About ten minutes.”

“You’ll stay with me? While I talk to him?”

A scraping sound as she pushed her chair back, and he opened his eyes to see her move around the table to his side, crouching down beside him. He pushed his wheelchair back from the table a fraction as she pulled him into an awkward hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her back as she held him close.

“I’ll be right here, Face. Whatever you need.” And he had never been more grateful for her than right then, as they fell into a deep silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, and the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds until Hannibal would call back. And Face prayed he would know what to say when the phone rang.

* * *

An hour, she’d said, and as Hannibal sat in the alley, tucked into the shelter of a dumpster, breathing through his mouth rather than his nose to avoid the smell, he found he’d never realised just how long an hour really was.

Face was alive. Out there in the world, somewhere, far away most likely. But alive. Sosa was talking to him right now, on the phone probably, or by email, perhaps, although that didn’t have the urgency needed for this.

One hour, and he’d know… something. A huge part of him still doubted Sosa was telling him the whole truth after lying about something as big as his lover’s ‘death’. His anger at her should have been completely off-the-scale, but nothing seemed to matter right now apart from the simple, wonderful fact that Face was alive.

It all made sense, in a twisted kind of way, the little he knew for sure. He could almost picture it – his poor boy, badly injured, reluctantly agreeing to let Decker fake his death and funeral before being locked up in a prison hospital. Was he still there now, still needing treatment after all these months? Face wouldn’t have chosen this, Hannibal knew that much for certain, however much Sosa tried to convince him. He had to have been forced into it.

To pass the time, he called both Murdock and BA, needing to hear their voices and also needing to check in on their progress. Typically, after so long spent waiting and watching, it looked increasingly likely the gang were going to attack the medical centre that very night. Murdock was there right now, ‘supervising’ the unloading of a delivery of medical equipment including some very expensive drugs. They’d be locked away securely, of course, but that hadn’t stopped the thefts before.

Hannibal’s conversation with BA was mercifully brief – the big guy was about to grab a couple of hours sleep after being out most of the night with his new ‘friends’ in the gang – but Murdock, ever perceptive, seemed to pick up on Hannibal’s barely-controlled distress.

“You okay, bossman?” the pilot asked. “You sound a little, I dunno… scattered?”

Hannibal tried to pull himself together a little, running one shaky hand through his short hair. “Fine, Murdock. Just waiting on a phone call.” He couldn’t tell his two boys, not yet, not like this. Not until he knew more. Not until he found Face and could bring him home.

“Roger that, sir!” Murdock’s voice was full of that manic energy that had been missing for so long now, a sign that his world was slowly beginning to stabilise. What would this do to him, Hannibal wondered, finding out his best friend had been alive all this time? “Tip-top secret conversations, high level espionage, tons of plannin’… Workin’ some of that good ol’Hannibal magic!”

“Something like that.” And Hannibal had to hang up abruptly, emotions threatening to choke him. What would this do to his whole team?

Face was alive. Hannibal wanted to move, to get to an airport, or just start driving, but where would he go? Where would Decker send Face – back to Pensacola? Or somewhere new – if, as Sosa claimed, his boy had a whole new identity, a new name, then maybe to Lewis or Bragg? They had extensive medical facilities, certainly, but without knowing what was wrong…

Hannibal checked the clock on his phone, determined to be punctual. As much as he wanted to be calling everyone he knew, every contact he had ever made, right now this was Sosa’s game, and he had to play it her way. One hour, she’d said.

Seeing he only had a few minutes left to wait, his heart started to beat faster until it threatened to beat clean out of his chest altogether. Finger hovering over the ‘call’ button, he clenched his jaw tightly and forced himself to hold on, repeating a mantra in his head, like BA had tried to teach him years ago, after their first escape.

Face is alive. I’ll find him. Face is alive.

The very second the clock ticked over, he placed the call and lifted the phone to his ear. Almost immediately, as if she had been waiting for his call, it was answered. Her usual dry, infuriating greeting.

“This is Sosa.”

Hannibal didn’t waste time being polite. “Did you speak to him?”

“Hannibal. Yes. I did.” An audible deep breathe, and he could have screamed at her for making him wait longer. Instead, he practically bit his tongue in half to keep silent, and eventually she spoke again, only to say, “Hang on a moment.”

“No, Sosa, don’t you dare – ”

“John?” 

The whispered, shaky word took a moment to register, but then something clicked inside Hannibal’s mind. That voice… The last thing he had expected. The one thing he hadn’t even considered.

“Oh my god – Face, sweetheart…” Hannibal squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the wall. “Oh, my boy, my darling… You’re really alive…”

“I am. I really am.” Face sounded a little stronger already, more present, more like himself, and for Hannibal it was almost as if the last nine months of misery had never happened. “I’m so sorry, John. I’m alive. I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Hannibal was incredulous – that his boy could be asking him that, after everything he must have been through, was beyond belief. “Hearing your voice… I’m okay now, baby. Oh Temp, I’ve missed you so much. I love you, kid, with all my heart. I thought you were dead. But you’re alive…”

Everything became too much for him, all of a sudden, so much he wanted to say to his boy, so much he needed to ask. He needed to hold him, more than anything – his arms were so empty they ached, and he wrapped his free arm around his chest, trying to hold the emotions in. But that could never be enough, and big, angry sobs forced their way out of his chest, hot tears running down his face. He couldn’t speak, choking on the overwhelming relief of knowing his lover was still alive, not rotting in the ground.

All he could do was weep, clutching the phone so tightly he feared he would break it. The whole time, he could hear his precious boy soothing him, whispering down the line how much he was loved, how much he had been missed, how sorry he was, and that he would explain everything. That wonderful, passionate voice he thought he would never hear again, the voice he heard every night in his dreams. And those tears just kept coming.

* * *

Hearing Hannibal’s voice after so many months made everything suddenly seem so much easier, and so much more complicated at the same time. That strong, commanding voice, still firm despite the obvious confusion and pain. The voice that always relaxed a knot somewhere deep inside Face’s chest – how had he ever thought he could survive a day, let alone the rest of his life, without hearing that incredible voice?

Saying ‘sorry’ seemed so inadequate, but that was all Face could think of to say. Hearing the agony in that usually-confident voice made him question again every decision he’d ever made – what hell had he put his lover through over the last nine months? How had he ever thought Hannibal would have moved on already?

And when Hannibal simply broke down, his loud, harsh sobs echoing across the miles, it was all Face could do to hold his own tears back. Beside him, he was so grateful for Charissa’s steady presence as she held his free hand tightly between both of her own, her gaze directed out of the kitchen window rather than watching him.

She gave him the strength he needed to try to comfort his overwhelmed lover, or at least offer what comfort he could over the telephone.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, over and over. “Everything’s okay, John. I’m here, I love you so much. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Hannibal’s sobs gradually quietened to soft gasps, and Face could almost picture his lover trying desperately to pull himself together, wanting to ask so many questions, needing to know so many answers. Why Face had done it. What was wrong with him. Where he was. Face hoped desperately he had the strength to say what he needed to say, to help Hannibal understand.

“I love you, Hannibal,” he said instead, as strongly as he could, feeling his own eyes damp with tears, his throat tight. “I love you and I can explain, or I can try. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

A sudden movement made him turn his head slightly, and he was surprised to see Charissa trying to subtly wipe her own eyes, visibly upset in a way he hadn’t seen her, not since this whole mess began. If she had cried for him before, she had cried in private. Seeing her weep now made everything start to feel far too real, as if he was waking from a nightmare to a strange new world.

Squeezing her hand as tightly as he could, he closed his eyes, listening as Hannibal finally managed to calm his breathing. “You okay?” he asked, after a long, quiet minute.

“It’s just the shock,” his lover replied at last, voice steadier if a little hoarse. “And… relief, I guess. To lose you, to bury you, and now to find you’re alive… I think I’m dreaming, kid, really.”

“Feels like a dream to hear your voice again, too,” Face confessed. “It’s been so long. And I really am so sorry…”

“Hey, come on now.” Hannibal’s voice was stronger again, while Face felt his own strength ebbing. “There’ll be time for explanations and apologies. Time for everything, now I know you’re alive. Where are you, my boy? Please, I have to see you, I have to… I have to see that you’re alive. I have to hold you. That is, if you want to see me?” An unwelcome note of uncertainty in Hannibal’s voice, and Face hated that he had made his lover doubt him.

“Of course I want to see you.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even really thought about them, and suddenly that was the only thing Face wanted in the whole world. Forget being able to walk again; he’d never complain about the wheelchair again if only he could see Hannibal one more time. “But, I don’t know how. I mean, it isn’t safe. Decker…”

Half-finished thoughts swirled around in his head, things he knew he should be worried about. Decker was watching him, and watching Sosa too. She had risked too much for him already. And his injuries, his damn chair… Nothing had changed, nothing. Except everything had changed, just because Hannibal knew.

“Fuck Decker,” Hannibal spat down the phone. “And fuck Sosa as well, whatever role she’s played in this. You’re with her, right now?”

“She’s helped me every step of the way. None of this is her fault, John.” Of course Hannibal didn’t know, he didn’t know even the half of it, and Face was making a mess of this whole conversation. But Sosa didn’t deserve his anger, nor did she deserve to be dragged down with Face if Decker caught wind of his plans. He had to see Hannibal, couldn’t survive without seeing his lover.

“Helped you how? I don’t understand any of this, Temp.” Pleading now, and a man like Hannibal should never be reduced to that. “Start at the beginning. Please, baby. Tell me what happened and what you’ve been through. Why you had to let me think that you… Why you’ve not called me before. Are you hurt? She said you were hurt?”

“John… I can’t…” Chest suddenly too tight, it was Face’s turn to feel his emotions overwhelm him, and he struggled desperately to remain calm and in control. “Not over the phone, I can’t… I don’t have the words…” 

He lost what little control he had, speech deserting him completely as he suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. What the hell had he done, to his lover, his whole team, to Charissa? What words could possibly be enough to justify his actions? 

“Just breathe, sweetheart. You’re okay.” As he had done so many times during so many panic attacks, Hannibal had the strength to comfort Face even from afar, and Charissa slipped an arm around his shoulder, anchoring him further. He tried to breathe, slowly feeling the fog lift as he managed to calm himself slowly, suddenly knowing what he had to do. The only thing he could do, to try to make up for this mess he had created. 

Face moved the phone away from his ear, shaking his head at Charissa as he tried to find his voice. “You should go,” he eventually managed to whisper to her. “You shouldn’t hear any more of this. I have to see him. We have to arrange to meet, and you shouldn’t know the details. You can’t…”

Through her tears, Charissa managed a small smile. “I can’t get involved much deeper than I am already, can I? I told you I’d help, and I meant it.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek, letting her lips linger as he swallowed hard, trying to find the words he needed to talk to Hannibal. Several times he tried to lift the phone back up, tried to speak again. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. After a moment, she seemed to realise how much he was struggling. “You want me to talk to him?”

Chest too tight again, he managed to nod as he handed over the phone, giving in to the threatening tears and hating himself for not being able to tell the man he loved everything. But some things couldn’t be done over the telephone. Some things needed to be said in person. Then Hannibal would see he had to leave, for good.

* * *

“Hannibal? It’s me again.” Sosa kept her arm tightly around Face as his shoulders shook with silent sobs, wishing she could do more to comfort him. It was horrible seeing him so broken, almost as if everything had hit him even harder now he’d spoken to his lover. It must be so hard for him; hearing Hannibal’s voice must make everything more real. 

“I don’t want to talk to you, Captain.” The anger in Hannibal’s voice shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Of course he would blame her, for the little he knew and understood. “You’ve done enough damage. Put him back on the phone, right now.”

“He can’t speak, John. He can’t do this over the phone.” She dropped her forehead to rest on Face’s shoulder, holding him as close as she could. “I know you must have been through hell these last nine months, but so has he. There are reasons you don’t know about, reasons he thinks he has to explain in person. This isn’t about you.”

“It’s about both of us.” But Hannibal didn’t sound as certain as his words might indicate. A long pause as Face continued to cry silently in her arms, and all she could think to do was wait until the colonel spoke again. “I’m coming to you,” he said eventually. “Right now. I can be on a plane in an hour – ”

“No, not here.” She was thankful for her military training as she immediately started trying to plan how she could get these two men together. Two men who had suffered so much, one physically and one mentally. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened, and she still couldn’t see a way for Face to leave with Hannibal, to go back to his lover and his team. And at some point she would have to figure out a way to protect herself and her career, but for now, Face was the most important person. She’d have to get him through this, the way she had helped him through the last nine months. Nothing else she could do.

It couldn’t be here, at her house, she knew that much – Decker was certain to have both her and Face under surveillance, but there were ways around that, ways they could avoid him. And suddenly she saw a way through, knew what had to be done.

“Okay,” she said aloud, both to the man in her arms and the man on the telephone. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”


	3. Chapter Three

Things happened fast, so fast they left Hannibal’s head spinning, and he’d barely had time to catch his breath after hanging up on Sosa. But at the same time, he couldn’t remember a time he’d been so very pleased when a job went wrong. BA’s insider knowledge into the gang had been missing a few key elements, including exact timings of the planned robbery, and then the doctor working with Murdock had forgotten to set the small intruder alarm the team had installed in the stockroom, and everything went to hell about an hour sooner than expected.

Which all just meant Hannibal could push his confused mix of emotions aside and hurl himself headlong into dealing with the situation as it happened, improvising every step of the way. Somehow it all worked out, as these things always did eventually, and he ended up pounding on the gang leader in the hallway of the medical centre, smashing the punk kid into the wall when he tried to swing a chair at Hannibal’s head. Someone had smashed the fire alarm and set off the sprinklers, but the ringing in Hannibal’s ears could just as easily have been from the blows he’d taken before getting things under control, or from the shock he’d received that afternoon.

The gang wasn’t large but they had been well-coordinated, although of course they were no match for the A Team, especially not when Hannibal Smith was looking for blood. He knew BA had already rounded up most of his new ‘friends’, and he’d last seen Murdock heading in that direction with an armful of ropes. The police were no doubt on their way by now, and this time they wouldn’t be too late. They would find the gang ready and awaiting arrest, with a bundle of evidence from previous attacks and burglaries, as well as some undercover footage BA had managed to record featuring several gang members bragging about their other exploits.

But Hannibal needed the simplicity of hitting the gang leader, a kid nearly as tall as he was, even if he was skinny as a rake. Mario, he seemed to remember BA saying, but all that time spent waiting and planning and then agonising about Face had left a red mist over everything Hannibal looked at. So he just swung punch after punch, until finally it looked like Mario was down for the count, and at last Hannibal stepped back, breathing hard.

Things came back into focus eventually as he caught his breath, stretching his neck slightly and flexing his hands, feeling the ache of bruises already forming on his body. A good kind of ache, at least, from a good job nearly finished successfully, and he stood tall over the semi-conscious young man. The worst kind of scum, preying on a volunteer centre like this one.

“You done, kid?” he barked over the blaring fire alarm, as Mario struggled slowly to a sitting position. “Or do you want to go another round?”

The gang leader swiped one shaking hand across his bloody nose and split lip, shaking some of the water from the sprinklers out of his hair. “I’ll take anything you got, old man.”

Hannibal took one step forward with fist raised, and took great pleasure in seeing the way Mario tried hard not to flinch back against the wall. But, given everything he’d been through that day, he didn’t have the heart to deliver the knock-out punch, that warm feeling returning to his stomach at the memory of all the times he’d trained with Face over the years, seeing a pair of bright blue eyes glaring up at him defiantly when Hannibal had put him on his ass. A pair of eyes he would be able to look into again, very soon. Against all odds.

“Get up,” he spat instead, but when the kid just glared at him, Hannibal simply grabbed him by the collar and started to drag him along the corridor, ignoring the barrage of swear words thrown in his direction. 

He was so ready for this job to be over. It was still important, still a good job, but he needed to be gone. Sosa’s plan gave him some time, but the feeling of wonder he felt at simply knowing Face was alive had stayed with him, and he doubted he would lose that feeling for a long time to come. But he needed time to come to terms with everything, time to absorb this shift in his reality. There had been no time at all so far; the team had been kept busy since Hannibal had hung up the phone from that emotional, draining conversation with Sosa and Face.

So many questions still to answer, so much he needed to say to his precious boy, but Face was alive. Injured, yes, changed even, and it scared the life out of Hannibal that he still didn’t know just how badly. His lover hadn’t been able to talk for long on the phone, but their brief conversation had filled Hannibal with confidence that somehow everything would be okay. Finish this damn job and get gone, he reminded himself, finally reaching the room where BA and Murdock had the rest of the gang tied up. The door was guarded by some of the volunteers from the centre, armed with whatever they had to hand – a couple of baseball bats, a small hammer, and one was even brandishing a saucepan from the kitchens – and with one last heave, Hannibal threw Mario headfirst into the room.

“Last one,” he told his men, his voice suddenly too loud and echoing in the space as the fire alarm and sprinkler system abruptly shut down. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You got it, Boss.” Murdock was ready with the rope as BA hauled the gang leader next to his more junior members, proceeding to tie him up neatly to the others. The pilot reached into a plastic bag and rummaged around for a moment before producing a homemade sign, hanging it carefully around Mario’s neck just as the kid seemed to finally pass out. “Just perfect!” he declared, adjusting his soaking wet baseball cap on his head as he stood, wild hair sticking out in all directions beneath it.

As Murdock stood back to admire his handiwork, both BA and Hannibal got a good look at the sign for the first time, and BA shook his head, clearly trying to swallow down his laughter. “You’re crazy, fool, you know that, right?” he told his friend, though there was a hint of admiration in his voice too. The handwritten sign read ‘I’m the chief scumbag and I have a tiny little dick’.

“Crazy is as crazy does, Bosco – ”

“Boys,” Hannibal barked, interrupting the banter before they could really get going. “Let’s go. Now.” He turned on his heel and was halfway down the hall before he heard their scrambling footsteps behind him. The distant sound of police sirens enhanced the sudden sense of urgency, and his two men fell into step by his side as they burst out the fire exit towards where the van was parked.

Doctor Ford was waiting there, her coat pulled tight against the chill of the night air. She held a hefty envelope in her hands, no doubt containing the team’s well-earned fee, and Hannibal took it as she held it out to him.

“Thank you,” the doctor said, as Murdock swept her up into a brief hug, BA already unlocking the van and climbing into the driver’s seat after nodding his goodbye. “For everything you’ve done.”

“No problemo, Doc!” the pilot chirped, kissing her on the cheek before bounding away into his own seat, slamming the door behind him, leaving Hannibal alone with the doctor. The approaching sirens were getting louder now, and time was short, so little time left to ask her anything meaningful, though she cocked her head to one side as if expecting another grilling from him. 

No time at all, and would she really tell him more than she already had? Hannibal didn’t know everything that had happened here, probably not even half of it, but he did know this woman wasn’t to blame. She had, inadvertently, set him on the path to finding his boy once more, and more than that, she had been part of the team that had saved his life. 

No time now, he realised, no time for anything other than goodbye. Taking a step closer, bending down until his mouth was close to her ear, Hannibal simply whispered, “Thank you.”

“Colonel?” she breathed, clearly confused.

“You saved him, you and your team.” Standing tall, he took one last look at her. In the flickering streetlights, Doctor Ford’s grey hair looked almost white and her face seemed pale, but she smiled up at him as he added, “I’ll see him soon, now. My boy. He’s alive.”

She nodded, her smile turning a little sad. “Remember what I told you. Everything he did, he did to keep you safe. Don’t blame him, Hannibal.” And with a final nod, she hurried back towards the medical centre to deal with the arrival of the police, leaving Hannibal with his thoughts once more. Those mixed emotions battered him again as his adrenaline started to fade, and he walked slowly around to his own seat in the van, BA leaning across the pop the door open for him.

No drama as they drove away, weaving through the alleys until they arrived in front of the busy hospital, blending in with the stream of traffic on the main road. It was late, gone midnight, but this little town never seemed to sleep. Hannibal was glad; he couldn’t have faced a police chase right then, not for anything in the world. He knew what he had to do next, had thought it through as carefully as he could, given what little time he’d had that afternoon, but it still felt wrong.

He couldn’t tell BA and Murdock the truth about Face, not yet. Not without knowing everything. Face had been seriously hurt, Hannibal knew that much, knew he was still in pain, and that worry was gnawing at the back of his brain constantly. There had to be a reason for what his lover had done, letting them all believe he had died, not trying to contact them after all these months – Hannibal still didn’t believe Face hadn’t been forced into it, and if he found out it really was all Decker’s idea, then he would track down his old friend and show him just what he thought of that. Probably with a bullet between the eyes. And he didn’t dare even think about Charissa Sosa.

For now, Hannibal simply had to get through the next day or so until he could see Face with his own two eyes, could hold him in his arms again. He still felt it was a dream, and that any moment might see him wake up in another cold, lonely motel room, with his boy dead and buried. A selfish part of him wanted to keep the fact that Face was alive to himself, just for a little while, so he could see Face first. His darling boy.

Glancing sideways at BA, peering over his shoulder at Murdock, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. His two boys had suffered nearly as much as he had over the last nine months, grieving in their own ways. What would this information do to them, once they knew? Finding out Face was alive might finally push Murdock over the edge into a full breakdown, and BA’s reaction would be nearly as unpredictable –anger, almost certainly, and Face didn’t need that. Neither did Hannibal, though his own anger at the whole situation was still there, burning hot beneath the relief coursing through his veins.

“You think you could drop me at the airport, big guy?” he asked, trying to sound casual, pulling a cigar from the glove box. “Didn’t get the chance to say, but I might have a lead on our next job. Need to meet face-to-face.”

“I ain’t gettin’ on no plane, Hannibal,” came the predictable response, and in the next instant Murdock draped himself over the back of Hannibal’s seat, laughing at his friend.

“Come on, Bosco. Not like I’ll be the one flyin’ you or anythin’! Though I could do, Boss, you know that – where we off to? I can get us a sweet little ride, a jet maybe, or – ”

“Just me, boys.” Hannibal held up his hand to silence the protests. “Just a few days, then I’ll catch up with you in Chicago. BA, you know your Mama’s waiting for you anyway.” The plan had always been to meet up with Mrs Baracus for a bit of a break, what would be only the second time they’d been able to see her since Face’s ‘death’. She had been devastated, of course, always having a particularly soft spot for the young lieutenant. Another life that would be changed when she found out the truth, and Hannibal gritted his teeth to keep from just blurting out the fact that Face was alive.

Beside him, BA and Murdock exchanged a long glance, and Hannibal felt a little flare of panic, even as he lit his cigar and took a long drag, keeping his face neutral. Murdock knew something was going on, of course, after their brief phone call earlier, but it was rare for these two men to communicate silently, without fists or threats flying.

“Colonel, are you sure…” BA’s voice was quiet as he turned back to the road, softer than normal even for him. “I mean, you sure you should be alone right now? I know this been tough on you, bein’ back here.”

Hannibal frowned, biting the end of the cigar. “I’m fine, BA. Honest. Just need to get this next job sorted.”

A slender hand rested gently on his shoulder and squeezed carefully. Murdock. “You need to talk, bossman? You ain’t gonna do nothin’ stupid, right?” Hannibal turned to look into a pair of concerned brown eyes, the pilot looking more serious than he had any right to be after a job well done. “You ain’t saying goodbye or nothin’? Face wouldn’t want that. We don’t want that.”

Hannibal squeezed his eyes shut as he realised what his men were worried about. Of course. They hadn’t been apart since everything happened, and after being back here, back near the quarry… “God, no. Murdock, no. Nothing like that, I promise. You were right; being back here has actually been okay. Difficult, but okay. Closure, like you said.” He reached up to rest his own hand over Murdock’s. “I promise I’m okay. I’m not going to leave you, ever.”

A sniffle before the pilot pulled away, dropping back into his own seat, but it was BA who replied, his deep voice rough now. “You better not leave us. We’re family, remember. You, me and the fool.”

Hannibal patted the driver gently on the shoulder, pouring every ounce of sincerity he had into his words. “We’re family. I’m not going anywhere, except to a meeting. I’ll call twice a day to check in, and I’ll meet you both in Chicago by thursday or maybe friday, at the latest. Make sure Mama B has some of her amazing chocolate cake waiting for me, okay?” 

He tried to keep down the hope that maybe Face would be with him by then, that he would have his lover back by his side where he belonged. So many questions, still, but maybe. Just maybe, it would be possible. He could bring Face home at last.

After a moment, BA smiled, nodding, and Hannibal let his hand drop away, feeling terrible that he had scared his two boys in such a way. That they would think he could even consider ending it all, leaving them alone… It just showed again how badly this had hurt them all, and settled in his own mind that he was right not to tell them about Face until he had the whole truth. 

“Airport here we come then,” BA declared, and Murdock let out a little whoop of excitement as his serious mood seemed to vanish as suddenly as it had descended. And Hannibal puffed slowly on his cigar, imagining the moment when he would be able to sweep Face into his arms and kiss away nine months of pain. Soon, now. Very soon. 

* * *

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.” Yet again, Face pushed his scrambled eggs and toast from one side of his plate to the other. He knew he should never have ordered food, his stomach tied up in far too many knots to let him eat anything at all.

Charissa, on the other hand, had polished off a plateful of fried food that might have even given BA pause for thought, and she waved the waitress over for another coffee refill even as she watched him closely. Face could feel her sharp eyes almost piercing his skull as he stared at his plate, the table, the cutlery… anywhere but at her.

“It’s not too late, you know,” she told him eventually, voice soft. “We can get back in the car and just drive. Anywhere. Away from here.”

“I know.” But where would they go, really? Back to her house, back to DC. And he could continue trying to piece his life back together, somehow. He had the chaplain from Bragg on his side now, and the determination he’d felt after speaking to the man over the phone had stayed with him, even after everything else in his life had turned upside down.

“I mean it,” Charissa continued, after the waitress had been and gone. “Whatever you want to do. I can take you home, or we could go somewhere for a few days. Pick a direction and just drive. I’ve got some time off work, you know that.”

“I know,” he said again, managing to meet her concerned brown eyes this time. “But I do have to do this, I think. I owe him this much.”

She shook her head, long dark hair falling forward over her shoulders. “I know you think you do. I know you love him. But you don’t owe him anything, not now. It’s your life.”

He couldn’t resist. “Such as it is.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.” Charissa picked up her mug, holding it in both her hands. “I’m not the bad guy here, Face.” 

“Neither is he,” he reminded her, then immediately felt bad. “Okay, so technically, I guess he is. In the eyes of the law, and all that. But you know the truth.”

“I do. And he needs to know the truth now, right? About your paralysis, about what’s happened over the last nine months. About everything.”

“He does.” They’d been over this so many times in the last few days, since that first phone call from his stunned lover, so far away. The call that had shattered all the resolve Face had built up to stay away and let Hannibal move on.

It still felt almost as if a fog had been lifted, after hearing Hannibal’s voice once more. How had he ever thought he could do this without the other man, his other half? No wonder he’d been sinking into depression, without the man he’d relied on for more than half his life.

Face didn’t care if that made him seem pathetic. Life-changing events such as the ones that had wrecked his own life weren’t meant to be faced alone, with only an ex-girlfriend by his side. Hearing Hannibal’s voice again had left him with the desperate need to see the older man again, to tell him everything, to show him what Face couldn’t find the strength or the words to say. To show him why Hannibal would have to leave him behind again anyway, and find some way to carry on his life, while Face carried on with his own.

And Charissa had stood by his side the whole time. She had been the one to come up with this plan; not a complicated, fifty-step plan like Hannibal or perhaps even Face himself might have come up with, but a fairly simple one.

A small town, just over the state-line. A motel, a decent diner, busy but not too busy. A few anonymous phone calls to Decker, placing the team far away. And now here they were. Waiting.

Face took a deep breath, forced a smile, and reached out to take her hand across the small table. “In case I don’t remember to say it later, thank you,” he told her softly. “For everything you’ve done these last months.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Charissa squeezed his hand in return, forcing a smile of her own. “I wish I could have done more.”

Face noticed the way her eyes flickered quickly down to his wheelchair and back up again. “I know you would’ve fixed me if you could,” he said with a sigh. “But you’ve done more than anyone could’ve asked. Lying for me when I was in hospital, fighting the legal battles when I really didn’t care… Hell, even letting me move in with you, rearranging your whole life around me.”

“You make me sound like a saint, or an angel, when I’m really not.” Charissa looked a little sad then, biting her lower lip. “I could have done more, but I certainly couldn’t have done any less. The thought of Decker just locking you up and throwing away the key, after everything that happened – well, I couldn’t have stood back and watched that happen.”

“Still, thank you. Seriously.”

Charissa pulled her hand back out of his, checking her watch before reaching into her bag and checking her phone too. “Still half an hour yet,” she told him, leaving her phone out on the table in case Hannibal called.

They’d arrived early, after driving up the night before, Face wanting some time to get comfortable before Hannibal showed up. The drive up had been easier than he’d anticipated, Charissa’s car large and well-cushioned, though he’d needed his painkillers and muscle relaxers to get through it all. As for this morning, it was by far the longest he’d been out in public in his wheelchair since the accident, and he felt very much as if every eye in the diner was on him, staring. Pitying him. 

He knew it was probably just his imagination, knew that everyone had their own lives to be leading, but it was like an itch on the back of his neck the whole time. He felt almost as if he was on the edge of panic attack, but, as she had so often, Charissa was his anchor. And Hannibal was coming, at last. Hannibal would be here soon. 

He didn’t want sympathy from the other diners or from the waitress, especially not now, when he had to hold himself together. Hannibal’s reaction was hard to predict, although he would almost certainly be sympathetic – he would be upset, angry, confused, and worried, all at the same time. Face really didn’t need the sympathy, didn’t need to be pitied, but he did need to see Hannibal, to hold him tight. Or maybe he just needed to be held.

“He’ll be early, I expect. I’m surprised he isn’t here yet, actually.” Still, he tried to keep his gaze away from the windows, tried to keep his heart from racing every time the little bell above the door jingled. “And, however this turns out, thank you for setting this all up.”

Charissa frowned a little. “You make it sound as if you’re saying goodbye,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze. “Like this is the end of the road.”

“It’s not, I promise.” They’d talked about this, about what might happen next. Hannibal might still want Face to go with him, but that just couldn’t work, he knew. He also knew Charissa was worried about his depression, that maybe seeing Hannibal would push him over the edge from depressed to suicidal. “It’s really not goodbye,” he insisted, and she blinked up to look at him nervously.

And that just wasn’t right. A woman like Charissa shouldn’t ever have reason to be nervous, just as a man like Hannibal shouldn’t ever have reason to cry the way he had cried on the phone the other day. Both his fault, and Face shook his head a little, blaming himself even though there was nothing he could do to change things, not now.

Charissa took his hand again, studying his face closely. “Not the end of the road, either. Just the start of a new one. A crossroads, maybe.”

He had to laugh a little at that. “We’re starting to sound like some cheesy self-help book. ‘Fix Your Life In Five Days’.”

After a second she laughed too, dark eyes staring out of the window, studying the parking lot. “Nothing quite like a good stereotype, right?” Then suddenly her hand tightened over his, and Face just knew what she was about to say. Sure enough – “He’s here.”

He drew a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach, wishing again he hadn’t tried to eat anything. “Here goes nothing.”

“Remember what we talked about, okay?” Charissa was already gathering up her jacket and bag, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be in the car. You need me for anything, you call me.” She paused, hovering. “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

He shook his head as firmly as he could. “Thanks. But I have to do this myself.”

“Good.” Charissa forced another smile, checking out the window to see, presumably, Hannibal making his way closer. Face didn’t look. Couldn’t look. “I don’t think I could stand to witness two manly men like you trying to be all tough, holding back the tears and being macho. Testosterone flying.”

“You know we’re both just going to be sobbing wrecks, right?” Face managed to say, his nerves starting to take over. What would Hannibal say to him? And what could he possibly say to his lover, after so long, to try to explain his decisions. Would this really be easier in person, or would it be so much harder, being able to see Hannibal’s eyes the whole time?

“Those damn stereotypes again, right?” And with that, Charissa squeezed his shoulder tight, offered him one last little smile, and left him alone at the table.

Face gestured for the waitress to clear the table, asked for two fresh mugs of coffee, all without consciously registering his actions. He heard the bell above the door chime as Charissa left, then started counting the seconds until Hannibal arrived. Until everything changed all over again. 

* * *

Hannibal thought he was ready, but now the time had actually arrived, he found himself more nervous than he’d expected. The last few days had passed in a blur, dealing with the medical centre and parting from his boys, and he’d managed to keep his mind focussed away from his lover. His very much alive lover.

He still couldn’t get over that thought, the realisation that Face was alive. That he would be able to see him again, speak to him, hold him. Kiss him and make love to him. After so many months grieving, feeling so alone with the love of his life gone – and Face had been alive all that time.

But there were still so many questions, and it worried him that Face couldn’t answer them over the telephone. Had barely been able to speak to him at all on the phone, so choked up with emotion after starting off so strongly. The little pieces of information Hannibal had been given were all barrelling around in his mind. Doctor Ford had told him Face only wanted to protect him, and that he wasn’t the same man anymore, while Sosa had said he was still in pain. That thought was a hard one to deal with – bad enough to think of Face awake and in pain before he died, worse now to find out that he had really been suffering alone all these long months, without Hannibal there to hold him and comfort him.

He’d spoken to Sosa only once more after these plans had been made, barely able to bite back his anger. She’d made it clear that Face didn’t think he could explain over the phone, that it was all just too much for the other man. Little consideration for his own feelings, but, in his experience, that was Sosa through and through. It seemed she had long since decided where her loyalties lay, and it wasn’t with Hannibal and his team any longer. It was with Face, the man she had hidden and helped for so long, and Hannibal was determined to get to the bottom of exactly what her role in this had been.

Walking across the parking lot now, he barely registered his surroundings, though the diner seemed nice enough. It had been a long flight across country, followed by a longer drive, but he would do it ten times over if it meant finding Face again. Whatever was wrong with his boy, be it missing limbs or terrible scarring – the thought of any kind of permanent damage terrified Hannibal, though he had been relieved to speak to his lover and find no hint of brain damage, his first concern when Sosa had said he was a changed man – whatever was wrong, it didn’t matter. He would care for Face whatever the truth of the situation turned out to be, whatever they hadn’t been able to discuss over the phone. He would love Face until the day he died, whatever the reasons for so many lies.

With that thought, he pushed the last of his nerves away and hurried across to the diner, tugging his collar up a little higher as he went. Sosa had sent Decker on a wild goose chase, but it was still possible they were being watched. Years of being on the run meant Hannibal was used to having eyes in the back of his head.

As he walked up the gentle ramp to the front door, Sosa suddenly hurried out, juggling jacket, handbag and takeout cup in her hands. She hadn’t changed at all, still all elegance and long dark hair, though she wore tight jeans and a sweater rather than one of her usual figure-hugging suits.

Hannibal had nothing to say to her, not right now, not when Face was so close, but she put a hand to his chest anyway, stopping him in his tracks.

“We’ll talk later, Captain, believe me,” he hissed, eyes already searching through the windows for a glimpse of his lover. “Get your hand off me.”

“I know you think you’re the wronged party here, Colonel.” Her voice was low, dangerous, and Hannibal turned his head slightly to look down into her fiery eyes. “But if you hurt him I will personally turn you in, and take pleasure in doing so. Understood?”

For a long moment he held her gaze before giving her a single nod, all he could do without literally ripping her head from her body. She was being fiercely protective of Face, as he’d expected, and once again Hannibal felt that old stab of jealousy he’d always struggled to keep down around this woman. The woman Face had fallen for, offering her his heart and his life, so many years ago now. But she had been stupid enough to turn him down, and he loved Hannibal now, had always loved Hannibal. Always would.

Keeping that thought close, he pushed past her and into the diner, ignoring the hostess who appeared to greet him, his eyes sweeping through the restaurant until finally, wonderfully, miraculously, he saw Face. At the very same moment, his lover looked up from the table, and their eyes met across the room.

Hannibal literally felt all the air leave his lungs as, finally, he saw the truth of the situation. Face was still Face, of course, as handsome and beautiful as he had always been, and always would be, to Hannibal. His hair was a little longer now, those curls running wild, and the artful stubble Hannibal had always loved had been replaced by a neat beard. Bright, vivid blue eyes shone across the room, though there were new lines around those eyes now, lines of pain and worry. Cheekbones that had always been prominent now stood out sharply from that handsome face, showing just how much weight his boy had lost, the slender shoulders telling a tale of lost muscle as well.

But even more that that – 

Face pushed back from his table slightly, turning so that Hannibal could see more clearly. Wasted, skinny legs in loose-fitting jeans. Not a normal, dining room chair, but a wheelchair.

A wheelchair.

Someone pushed behind Hannibal, and a baby started crying, the real world crashing back down hard around him as he remembered they were in a public place. He forced his feet to start moving, weaving his way through the tables towards his darling boy. His poor, broken boy. His Face, alive and in front of him at last.

What could he possibly say, what words could possibly be enough? All the openings he’d thought of, all the possible scenarios he’d worked through in his mind – why hadn’t he thought of this? There was anger, too, bubbling beneath the surface, but more than anything he just wanted to try to make this all better. How could he possibly fix this?

Reaching Face’s side, standing in front of his lover for the first time in so many long and lonely months, words failed him completely, emotion choking him even though his eyes remained dry. But his boy understood, Face always able to read him like a book, and opened his arms to him, whispering, “It’s okay, John.”

Hannibal dropped to his knees in front of his lover’s wheelchair, and virtually fell forwards into those waiting arms, reaching his own up around slender shoulders and burying his face into his boy’s neck, inhaling deeply. Face smelled as he always had, a mixture of expensive grooming products and a faint, unique musk. He smelled like home, to Hannibal, and the thought brought tears to his eyes, though he blinked them back.

Face clung to him, even as Hannibal tightened his arms further, pulling his boy a little closer. His body remembered this so well and his arms, empty and aching for so long, felt full and complete at last. He’d thought he’d never have this again, thought Face was gone from his life, and all his anger and sorrow faded into the background at the sheer, overwhelming relief he felt that Face was alive, warm and solid in his arms.

He could have stayed like that forever, just holding his lover right where he belonged, next to his heart, but, as he shifted slightly, the unfamiliar nudge of a wheelchair against his thighs made him pull back with a start, hands moving to gently steady his boy, remembering what little he had been told.

“Oh god, kid, sorry.” Hannibal settled his hands carefully on too-bony shoulders, staring deep into those blue eyes he’d missed so much. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Does it hurt?”

Face shook his head, lifting one hand to caress Hannibal’s cheek gently. “You couldn’t hurt me, John. It’s not so bad, I promise. And don’t you dare apologise, please. It should be me apologising…” But this time when Face opened his arms, Hannibal managed to hold himself back, dropping his hands to the arms of his boy’s chair and, after a moment, Face let his own hands fall to rest on Hannibal’s forearms.

“Permanent?” he whispered, in shock, terrified of the answer but needing to know.

“Yes.” Face lifted Hannibal’s right hand into his lap, and the colonel took the suggestion, swallowing hard as he did. He let his hand slide smoothly over the denim, squeezing gently to feel the slender leg beneath, so unfamiliar after years of feeling firm, solid muscle. Stroking the way Face always loved, down to the knee and back again. A shaky sigh was the only real response, before Face told him, in a soft but steady voice, “I’m paralysed from the waist down. No feeling, nothing. L1 and L2 fractures, and a complete spinal cord injury. It’s permanent.”

Over whelming pity flooded through Hannibal’s body, sympathy and horror for the terrible injuries, for everything his boy had lost. But he tried to hold it in, knowing Face would hate it more than anything if he started saying how terribly sorry he was. Instead, he climbed carefully to his feet, pulling out the chair next to his lover rather than sitting opposite, as Face turned his wheelchair back towards the table.

“This is why you let me think you were dead?” he managed to say, seizing Face’s left hand with his right and squeezing tightly. Had his lover thought he wouldn’t be wanted anymore? “I’m devastated, sweetheart, of course I am. What you must have been through, I can’t even imagine. But – ”

“It is the reason, but not like you think, John. Things happened so quickly after the accident, and it seemed the best way to keep you safe.”

“The best way?” Hannibal still felt the conflicting emotions battering him from all sides, but for right now, anger and heartbreak were bubbling to the surface. “I thought you were dead. I grieved for you. How was that for the best?”

“The only way, then, if not the best.” Face squeezed his hand in return. “It was just so quick.”

“Tell me, Temp. Please. Tell me everything you felt you couldn’t say over the telephone.” Hannibal was starting to understand, partially at least, why Face hadn’t felt able to tell him before, why he had wanted to do it in person. Seeing the wheelchair, seeing his lover’s new reality… He never would have believed it. Wouldn’t have wanted to. “Please, talk to me. Help me understand.”

Beside him, Face took a huge breath, letting it out slowly before sipping slowly from his coffee, nudging the other mug closer to Hannibal. “I was already under arrest when I woke up from surgery,” he started, his voice so quiet Hannibal had to lean a little closer to hear properly. “Decker had me cuffed to the bed, and Charissa was there too. They already knew I would be paralysed. The damage was just too severe, from the impact of the jeep, then hitting the concrete… But I needed more operations, more treatment. I had a collapsed lung and my right leg was in a cast. You couldn’t have helped me, Hannibal, though I knew you’d want to. I needed hospitals, and hospitals meant Decker, and Decker meant prison. And you couldn’t follow me there. I wouldn’t let you.”

“But you aren’t in prison.” Hannibal was struggling to keep up, but he could feel Face trembling by his side, knew how hard this was for his boy.

“I was,” came the soft reply after a moment. “Or, at least, I was in the prison infirmary at Bragg. I went through three more surgeries, and through rehab, all behind bars. The Army took care of me, John, they really did.”

“But you’re out now. You’re free?”

Face laughed softly, a dull, humourless thing, so far from his usual booming laughter that Hannibal felt his chest grow tight. “Free. I guess you could call it that. Charissa organised all the legal shit – I’m on parole. I have a whole new identity.” He carefully pulled his hand free of Hannibal’s, holding it out as if for a handshake. “Anthony Jordan, pleased to meet you.”

Hannibal stared at the proffered hand, his mind working overtime to process just what kind of suffering his boy had been through. He shook his head slowly, watched as Face sagged back into his chair, dropping that hand back into his lap. 

“What part of all that meant I had to think you were dead?” he eventually managed to whisper. “What part of that meant I couldn’t know where you were, what you were going through? I thought you had died, alone on a surgeon’s operating table, alone and in pain. I couldn’t even go to your funeral…”

“It was the only way, at the time. Or at least, I thought it was.” Face paused, took another sip of his coffee. “No, I have to stand by my decisions. And it was my decision, mine alone. It was the only way. I’m sorry. I know this hurt you, finding out like this, but you were never meant to know. You were meant to move on with your life and forget about me – ”

“Forget about you?” Hannibal slammed his fist onto the table, aware he was shouting only from the frowns sent in their direction, the waitress who looked over from the booth in the corner, concern on her face. This must have been why Sosa had insisted on a public meeting place, so he couldn’t shout at Face. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes for a second, beating back his anger. “I could never forget about you, my boy,” he murmured instead, trying to pour every ounce of passion he could into his words. “You are the love of my life, my whole world. Your death broke my heart, shattered my soul. I swear, there were some days when… If I hadn’t had Murdock and Bosco, I don’t know how I would have found the strength to go on.”

“Don’t say that.” Short, sharp words, so much pain in Face’s voice, and for a second Hannibal felt guilty for being the one to put that pain there. But then he remembered the nine months of agony he’d been through himself, and continued, keeping his voice soft.

“You are everything to me, Templeton, you always have been and you always will be. All those times I told you I loved you, all those times I told you how much I needed you with me forever… Did that all mean nothing to you? Could you push me away so easily?”

“You think this has been easy?” Face’s voice was barely more than a breath, and Hannibal turned to see his boy’s cheeks were wet with tears, those blue eyes rimmed with red. “This has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through, and to do it without you by my side has been – well, you aren’t the only one who struggled to find the strength to carry on. But the one thing that did give me strength, the one thing I held on to through all the surgeries, through physical therapy, through the parole board and all the legal shit…”

“Face…” Hannibal wanted to pull his lover back into his arms, kiss away those tears, tell him it would all be okay. But he couldn’t. Not here, not now. “Face, kid…”

“The one thing I held onto was the thought that you were free.” Face swiped one hand viciously across his eyes, blinking hard. “Knowing you weren’t in jail alongside me, knowing you were still out there, alive and free. Knowing you weren’t in agony over leaving me behind. Knowing I wouldn’t ever be a burden on you, watching you having to try and carry me around from job to job like some fucking mascot. I can’t do it anymore, John, I can’t go on the run with you, I can’t be with you, I can’t do anything. I’m stuck in this damn chair for the rest of my life, I’ll never walk or run again, and the only thing that made it all bearable was knowing you were still free.”

There was nothing Hannibal could say to that level of honesty. The pain in his lover’s voice was so real, the emotions so strong and heartfelt, that he felt some of his own anger fade. They’d both suffered so much, but Face was suffering still.

“This isn’t how I thought this would go,” Hannibal admitted after a few minutes of silence, taking Face’s hand back in his own and holding tight. Marvelling in the fact that he could do that much, at least, in public. “I thought I would be so angry at you. I should be furious at you for not telling me, but I’m just in awe of the fact that you are still alive. That you are really here, next to me. Not rotting in the ground.”

After another minute, Face sighed. “It isn’t what I imagined either. But I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so sorry for everything, and I’m sorry you had to find out like you did, but I’m not sorry you’re here now. I missed you with every beat of my heart, every minute of every day.”

“Oh Face, me too.” Hannibal swallowed hard. He’d never been good with big, emotional speeches, unless they were shouted in anger. “I dreamed of seeing you again,” he confessed softly. “Virtually every single night since your funeral, and in those dreams I would tell you how much I love you, how much I need you with me. You are the most important person in my whole world, and it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me if you can walk or not. I love you, Templeton, all of you. Not just your legs.”

“Me too. I mean, I love you, John. I always have and always will. That hasn’t changed.” Face managed a smile through his tears, and Hannibal found himself smiling back, though there was still so much he needed to know. So many months to catch up on. And one far more important thing he still hadn’t done.

Leaning close, he whispered into Face’s ear. “I want to kiss you, Temp. And I want to hold you, if it won’t hurt you.” He felt the shiver pass through his boy’s body, felt the soft hair brush his chin as Face turned his head slightly. “But I can’t do that here. I’m still angry, and I’m still confused, and I still need to understand more of what you’ve been through. But more than that, I just love you.”

Face turned fully towards him, placing a gentle kiss to Hannibal’s cheek, just the barest brush of warm lips against skin. And he whispered, “I want all that too, I really do. And I need to know about your life too, Hannibal. What it’s been like for you – what I’ve put you through. All of you; Murdock and Bosco, as well – are they okay? Do they know?”

“They’re fine. And no, they don’t know. I needed to know more before I told them anything, and I wanted you all to myself at first.” Hannibal smiled a little as he leaned back in his chair, keeping hold of Face’s hand. Not sure if he would ever be able to let go. “Selfish, maybe. But you’re mine, Templeton Peck. My boy.”

“Anthony Jordan,” Face reminded him, and Hannibal let his smile drop. This was such a mess. “Whatever my name, I’m yours, always,” his lover continued softly. “And I hope you’re still mine.”

Hannibal tried to pour everything he had into his answer. “Always.”

“But that doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change the reason we’re here. I’m paralysed and on parole; you’re a wanted federal fugitive on the run.” Bright blue eyes dropped to the table as Face shook his head. “Where can we possibly go from here, except our separate ways?”

As much as Hannibal wanted to give his boy an answer, as much as he wished he could come up with a plan, his mind was blank. Completely and utterly blank, for possibly the first time in his life. “I don’t know, kid,” he confessed, seeing the way Face squeezed his eyes shut at his words, knowing his boy would have been hoping and praying for him to have all the answers, hating himself for failing. “What happens next?”

* * *

She tried not to watch the diner too closely, knowing they needed privacy, knowing how difficult this would be for them both. She didn’t think she’d even be able to see them from where she sat in her car, tucked away in the back corner of the parking lot, rather than in one of the disabled spaces near the door – Face’s decision, not hers. Still, Sosa found she simply couldn’t concentrate on the reports she had brought with her, just staring at the paperwork and trying not to stare at the diner.

What were they both saying, feeling, at this very moment? At the least, Hannibal would know the full truth at last, about the extent of Face’s life-changing injuries and his prospects for recovery. Or rather, the fact that he would never recover. She knew from her own experiences just how much of a shock that was to hear, remembering those impossibly difficult days in the hospital in the immediate aftermath of the accident.

For Hannibal, she knew it would be a particularly bitter pill to swallow. To find his deceased lover was actually alive and well, only to find him broken in both body and mind – Sosa couldn’t imagine even the great Hannibal Smith dealing with that well.

She’d insisted on a public meeting place for that very reason. If Hannibal’s understandable anger got the better of him, if he lashed out at Face, she wanted there to be people around. She’d rather hurry Face away if someone called the police than pick up the pieces if Hannibal shattered what little confidence he’d started to build after talking with the chaplain. 

Sosa sighed, absently sipping at her take-out coffee. Maybe it would have been so much easier if Face had just told Hannibal everything over the phone, or at least let her tell him instead. She could see he genuinely hadn’t ever expected Hannibal to find out, and this whole mess was getting deeper and more complex with every step. It had hardly been fair on Hannibal, giving him half of the story and keeping him waiting until they met in person, although she felt certain that the two men would still have arranged to meet, one way or another. At least this way she was close by, until the two reunited lovers had some time to talk quietly.

Shaking herself, she tried again to concentrate on the reports she was trying to study. She was supposed to be heading off to the Middle East in just over a week’s time, assuming she still had a job by then, and the prep work was getting complicated, as the work for such trips always seemed to do. Nothing simple in her life right now, except perhaps her desire to help and protect Face.

If someone had asked her a year ago if she would be willing to put her whole career on the line to help someone, she would have laughed in their face. But that was exactly what she was doing by arranging for Face to meet up with Hannibal. Decker was watching them, she knew that, and she wouldn’t put it past the man to have her tailed. She had a good friend in the CIA who checked her mobile phone frequently for bugs and tracers, but her car, her house… Paranoia was a terrible thing, especially when she really did have something to be paranoid about.

As much as she really didn’t want to look, she couldn’t help it, tossing her papers to the passenger seat and crossing her arms as she stared out of the window at the diner. As she’d thought, she couldn’t make out the two men from here, but she could see people inside, waitresses moving around, families eating lunch, businessmen just passing through.

No fights, no chairs being thrown through windows and, most importantly, no police cars screaming into the parking lot with sirens blazing. That had to mean it was going well.

The moment she thought that, she could have kicked herself. She didn’t believe in jinxes or bad luck, but if there really was Someone watching, they wouldn’t be able to resist messing with her after that.

Sure enough, the very next second saw the door of the diner thrown open. The tall figure with shining silver hair could only be Hannibal, and he held the door open as Face wheeled himself through and down the ramp, both of them heading straight for her car. They both looked pale and drained, Face especially so, and Hannibal had his hands jammed deep into his pockets as he walked beside his lover, clearly resisting the urge to push the chair. It made him look incredibly uncertain and surprisingly young.

As they got closer still, Sosa took a deep and steadying breath before popping her door and climbing out, leaning back against the car as the two men reached her. Face’s eyes were a little red, as if he’d been crying, but they were both so quiet it worried her a fraction.

“Alright?” she asked softly, when it became clear neither of them would speak first. She looked firstly to Face, who nodded slowly, then to Hannibal who just shrugged.

“Nothing about this is alright, Captain,” the Colonel told her, his voice surprisingly flat and devoid of emotion. This must have been a terrible shock for him, but Sosa had expected anger towards herself at the very least.

Before she could reply, Face spoke up. “Could I get my bag, Charissa?” he asked her, and she narrowed her eyes at him in concern, her first worry that he needed his painkillers, that he was hurting. He seemed to read her mind, offering her a weak smile. “I’m okay, really.”

Reaching back into the car, she thumbed the button to open the boot, watched as Face wheeled himself slowly towards the rear of the car to grab his little overnight bag; they’d brought all their things from the motel, just in case they needed to make a hasty exit. She quickly threw out a hand to stop Hannibal when the older man went to help, catching him around the arm. “He can do it,” she whispered when he glared at her, his icy-blue eyes cold and chilling. “Don’t fuss.”

She fully expected him to shake her off, but he sighed instead, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t… I feel like this is just a bad dream,” he whispered back, eyes following Face’s every move. “And I’m not ready to talk to you yet, but I know you’ve helped him. That you’ve been there for him when I couldn’t be. And I might be able to thank you for that someday.” Hannibal did pull his arm away then, taking a deliberate step towards Face, away from her. “But not yet.”

Sosa swallowed hard, nodding once. She could accept that. “What now then, boys?” she asked, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, and genuinely wanting to know. She’d expected them to be in there for hours, but barely thirty minutes had passed since Hannibal first arrived. Not enough time for them to have covered everything they had to say to each other. Unless it was really all over. Unless Face had already convinced Hannibal to leave him, to forget all about him. 

“I’m taking him with me.” Hannibal folded his arms across his chest as he spoke, standing to his full height as if challenging her to a fight, and Sosa instinctively stood taller herself. She’d been afraid of this, all along, that the two stubborn men would get lost in the romance of their reunion and forget the practicalities. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Colonel – ” she started, but soft laughter from the rear of the car took the wind from her sails.

“John, relax. Please.” Face came around the car, his bag in his lap, and extended his hand towards Hannibal, who immediately took it. “Don’t be like that. Charissa, honey, it’s just for a little while. For today. We need some space, need to talk in private.”

Initial panic over, she turned her gaze on the man in the wheelchair. “Face, this is a bad idea,” she hissed. “Don’t get carried away.”

“I’m not, I promise. Just for a few hours. Can we meet back here, maybe at sixteen-hundred?”

“Face…” Her protests melted away at the look in his shining blue eyes. For the first time in months, there was a spark of hope and life burning there, where for so long there had been only despair. His knuckles were white as he clutched tightly at his lover’s hand, and there was a tiny smile hovering on his lips. She bit her lip before impulsively leaning down and kissing his cheek, practically feeling Hannibal’s murderous gaze on the back of her head. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she told him as she stood back up, relishing the blush that coloured his cheeks.

“Fat chance of that,” he reminded her softly, even as he nodded his thanks, and Sosa couldn’t miss the way Hannibal’s head whipped down, couldn’t miss the frown of realisation that crossed his face before he pulled a carefully blank mask back down. He hadn’t thought of that yet, she realised, and her chest felt tight with sympathy for both of them, as much as she didn’t really want to think about their sex life. But Face, it seemed, was determined not to be depressed today. What a difference it had made to him already, she thought, having his lover back by his side. “I’ll see you later,” Face told her with a smile, letting go of Hannibal’s hand and starting off towards what must be the colonel’s rental car.

Hannibal only hovered another second before following after Face, no parting gestures, no final words for her. Maybe that was for the best, Sosa thought, not wanting to awaken his anger now, not when he was leaving with Face, but after a few steps the older man suddenly stopped. “Shit,” he swore loudly, and Face paused, looking back over his shoulder.

“John? What is it?” Face asked, and Sosa wondered the same thing, her hand already on her car door handle.

“My motel room, kid. It’s on the second floor.” Oh. “There’s no lift,” Hannibal added, and Sosa could immediately see where this would go.

Sure enough, Face spun his chair round until he was facing her, tilting his head to one side and smiling the biggest smile she had seen from him in a long while. Only a fraction of his old mega-watt grin, the grin that could get him anything he wanted, charm anyone he set his mind to. But it was enough.

With an exaggerated sigh, Sosa reached into her bag and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for, throwing them at Hannibal, who caught them with a frown.

“Captain?”

“Keys to our motel room.” An ‘accessible’ suite, with wide doors and a wet-room where Face could shower seated, handles around the toilet and sink, even a hoist by the bed if they needed it. She knew just how much Face hated all those things, but at the same time, she knew he needed them, and he knew it too. Maybe it would be good for Hannibal to see more of his lover’s new reality. “Don’t lose them,” she told the colonel as Face turned to continue across the parking lot.

“Captain, I…” Hannibal’s mask slipped as he shook his head again, big hand closing tightly around the keys. For a moment she could see the pain he was in, and she longed to reach out to him as she had reached out to Face, though she had no idea how that would be received. “I’ll look after him, I promise,” he told her, keeping his voice low so Face wouldn’t hear. “And I will bring him back safely.”

“You’d better.” With one final stare, Sosa turned to climb back into her car, slamming the door with a little more force than necessary, not looking up again until she was settled in her seat. She watched as Hannibal opened the passenger door of his car, stepping back and hovering awkwardly as Face used the door and the internal handle to swing himself out of his wheelchair and into the seat, lifting his limp legs in one at a time. She watched as Hannibal fumbled with the chair a moment before finding the lever that let it collapse, folding it carefully and sliding it into the back of the car. She couldn’t see either of them clearly, but she couldn’t miss the heaviness in Hannibal’s step as he hurried around to the driver’s side, climbing quickly behind the wheel and starting the car.

She watched them pull away, turning out of the parking lot and accelerating away into the distance. There was something so right about seeing them together again, two halves of the same whole, that she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad about how things had worked out. What had she expected, getting them together like this – had she really thought Hannibal would just ride off into the sunset after coffee, leaving Face behind? Maybe, after some time alone together, the colonel might be able to see a solution she and Face had both missed, that great strategic mind leaping into action.

She hoped and prayed that might be the case, but deep down, she doubted it. She checked her watch – she had a little over five hours to kill until she had to be back here, ready to pick up the pieces, and no motel room to go back to now. With a sigh, she started her car, thinking she might drive into the nearest town and just find a decent coffee shop with wi-fi, but at that very moment two big black vans appeared, driving at high speed.

All her instincts immediately kicked into play, and she slammed her car into gear as one van sped off down the road in the direction Hannibal had taken, while the other turned into the parking lot, wheels spinning on the gravel surface. Before she could move more than a few metres, the van skidded to a halt in front of her, blocking her in, and she cursed herself for parking in a corner. Nowhere to run to, nowhere to go. 

She reached instead for her phone, desperate to let Face know what was happening, but the side door of the van slid open and she found two guns trained on her. Heart beating fast, nothing else she could do, she dropped the phone back into her bag and slowly raised her hands. 

* * *

“So what now?” The fact that Hannibal even had to ask made Face feel slightly sick as he wheeled himself into the motel suite he had shared with Charissa last night. This had seemed like a good plan back at the diner, or at least a plan, if not necessarily a good one. But seeing just how badly Hannibal’s world had been rocked made Face realise again how poor some of his decisions might really have been.

But he still couldn’t be sorry his lover was there with him, despite the slight awkwardness between them on the drive here. They had barely spoken two words to each other, though Hannibal’s hand had reached for his the moment they started driving, and had only let go briefly to change gears when necessary. For one horrible moment, Hannibal had thought they were being followed, but the black van had dropped back before vanishing into the traffic on the highway, and Face was hopeful they were in the clear. Charissa would have called if she had run into any problems, certainly.

For now, Face decided to go with the literal, obvious answer to Hannibal’s question, and headed straight for his bed, needing to get out of his chair. “Right now, we get comfortable,” he told his lover over his shoulder, as he got into position by the bedside. “For me, that means lying down, I’m afraid. I’ve been upright too long.”

“Can I help?” came the hesitant question, but Face shook his head, not able to bring himself to look Hannibal in the eye. He hated being this way, hated showing the other man any sign of weakness, but this was his new life now. The sooner Hannibal saw that, the sooner he would realise Face couldn’t go with him.

“I got it. But thanks.” Within minutes he was up on the bed, shuffling the pillows until he was propped up in a semi-reclining position. He stretched his back out as well as he could, already feeling bad for not doing his exercises properly the night before – Kim, his physio, would kill him if he went home with his muscles all knotted up – and finally he managed to look up at Hannibal.

The colonel had perched himself on the very edge of the second bed, arms folded across his chest, watching him with a carefully blank look. Face knew that look, had a similar one himself – it was a look designed to hide his true feelings, but Hannibal’s eyes gave him away. There was sympathy there, or maybe pity, and Face felt a wash of gratitude that his lover knew him well enough not to hover. Neither of them had ever been good patients, far too eager to get back to work rather than resting under doctor’s orders. But Face had been forced to change, had to learn to speak up when he needed help – it had been a difficult habit to get into.

Hannibal waited until Face finally settled before asking, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just get muscle spasms still if I sit upright for too long.” Face stretched his arms out wide, feeling the pull in his lower back. “Doesn’t hurt exactly, just uncomfortable. Do you have any idea just how many muscles it takes to stay sitting up straight?”

“Face…” Hannibal shook his head slowly, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Kid, I’m… I’m out of my depth here. I don’t know…”

“I know, John. I don’t know either, and I’m the one this happened to.” Silence fell between them for a moment before Face forced a smile, patting the bed beside him. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Giving you some space.” But Hannibal’s lips quirked up in a tiny smile, and Face knew that despite the pain and confusion, his lover was delighted to be back with him. Almost as if they had never been apart.

“I don’t need space,” Face told him, a smile of his own appearing as he added, “That’s Charissa’s bed, you know.”

Hannibal was on his feet in a flash, glaring at the single bed as if it had bitten him. “Should’ve known…” he murmured, while Face laughed softly.

“What, you thought we were sharing?” he asked, watched Hannibal’s cheeks flush pink, knowing what his lover would have thought. “There’s nothing to be jealous of, sweetheart. She’s been a good friend, but nothing more.”

“You live with her in DC, too?” Definite jealousy in Hannibal’s voice, but Face took heart in the way his lover kicked off his shoes before climbing onto the larger bed beside him, stretching his long, muscled legs out besides Face’s useless ones.

“Yes. But separate rooms.” Finally close enough to touch, Face shifted slightly until he could rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. He felt his lover tense for just a second, probably scared of hurting him, before a heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him tight. With a sigh, Face leaned further into the embrace, resting his hand on Hannibal’s strong chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his palm. “Oh, that’s better,” he breathed, letting his eyes slip closed. Home at last.

* * *

Holding Face in his arms once more, it really felt as if the last nine months had never happened, one long terrible nightmare from which Hannibal had finally woken. He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his darling boy closer still, and buried his nose in all that soft hair.

“Not just better,” he told Face, his voice rough from emotion. “That’s just perfect. God, I’ve missed you, love.”

Face turned awkwardly in his arms, blue eyes bright with emotion, and Hannibal leaned down to kiss his lover tenderly, on perfect lips. A kiss full of love and passion, but also a kiss of sadness, on both sides, for so many lost months. So much pain for both of them. A healing kiss, as much as any of this could be healed.

Hannibal kissed his boy again and again, keeping it steady and gentle, not deepening it as he longed to do. This was already more than he thought he could bear, given how changed Face was from the man he used to be, and there was still so much to talk about, so little time they had together.

Still the gentle kisses continued, Face seemingly more than content to simply be held close, his hand on Hannibal’s chest hot enough to brand his skin through the thin shirt he wore. How on earth had he survived the last nine months, thinking Face was dead? This was like breathing oxygen after nearly drowning, like the first drink of water after two days in the desert – Hannibal drank in as much of his lover as he possibly could, kissing him as if there would be no tomorrow.

But the whole time, as perfect as the kisses were, Hannibal couldn’t help but be aware just how different Face felt in his arms. Not his smell, not his taste, but the very different feel of his body. Still firmly muscled, still no trace of fat to be found as he slid his arms tighter around that thinned torso, but muscles of a different kind. He could tell Face had lost his six-pack, lost the cleanly-defined pecs and shoulder muscles his boy had always worked so diligently to maintain. In their place were lean, tight muscles, utilitarian muscles clearly built through months of physical therapy, and Face was still so thin. Sliding his hands carefully to Face’s waist, wary of causing him any pain, Hannibal could feel the jut of hipbones, didn’t dare slide his hands further down. Feeling his boy’s wasted legs briefly in the diner had been enough, for now. 

Face was the one who broke the kisses, breathing heavily and dropping his head back onto Hannibal’s shoulder. “Wow,” he gasped, and Hannibal had to smile, even as he tried to catch his own breath. “That was worth the wait.”

Thoughts of the last months spent alone flared up again, and Hannibal pushed back the flash of anger he felt in his stomach. “Wow indeed,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to Face’s forehead before shifting them both slightly into the pillows, crossing his legs at the ankles. Trying to ignore the way his boy’s legs were just sprawled boneless in what looked to be the most uncomfortable position possible. “Missed you so much. You think you can talk to me, for a bit? Tell me everything, from the start? I need to know everything, every operation, everything Decker said, everything Sosa has done.”

Face huffed an ironic laugh. “Might take a while.”

“We’ve got the time.”

A pause. “You’ll hold me?” 

Hannibal had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut at the pain in Face’s voice, glad his lover’s face was still buried against his shoulder. “Always,” he vowed, closing his arms around slender shoulders and holding as tight as he dared. “Talk to me, baby.”

And Face did. 

* * *

Face talked for what felt like hours, telling Hannibal every possible detail of what he had been through, from the time immediately after the accident with Decker and Doctor Ford, through his time at Bragg with the chaplain, and his struggle to find a way forwards now he was on parole and living with a new identity. Hannibal held him the whole time, though Face hadn’t been able to lift his head and meet his lover’s eyes, not wanting to see the mixture of anger and sympathy he could imagine all too well. At times, Hannibal’s arms had grown almost painfully tight, and Face had heard suspicious sniffles coming from the older man, but he’d pressed on as best he could, trying to keep his words steady and as free of emotion as possible.

As much as he wanted to spare Hannibal the pain, he knew he owed his lover nothing less than the truth. Hannibal had to know everything, had to understand what Face had been through, what he was still going through. Had to know why Face had done what he had done, and why he would have to leave Face behind again.

When he finally reached the point in his narrative where Hannibal had placed that fateful phone call to Charissa, it was Hannibal’s turn to talk, the colonel far more emotional than Face as he spoke of the agony the whole team had gone through when they learned of Face’s ‘death’ in the accident. The pain of not being able to go to the funeral, struggling to help each other through it, leaning on each other as much as they could. Eyes closed tightly, Face could feel his tears soaking Hannibal’s shirt as his lover described, in a voice so full of heartbreak, the tiny happiness he had felt at being able to send flowers to lie on Face’s coffin, thanks to a sympathetic military friend who had attended the funeral.

Hannibal skimmed over the months since then, telling Face how the team had had no choice but to go back to their work, taking on new jobs to make ends meet, staying away from California until Doctor Ford and her team had contacted them for help. The strange feeling of closure he had started to feel, being back in the same area where Face had ‘died’, visiting the quarry. The shock he had felt when the doctor, exhausted from long hours at the clinic, had let slip that she knew Face, and all the walls had started to fall down. 

Face was sobbing quietly by the time Hannibal finished, chest heaving as he tried to keep quiet. Hannibal was crying too, he could tell, and for a long time they just lay there, together at last, letting their emotions run free. But eventually the tears dried up, the relief at being back together taking over for now, and Face managed to calm his breathing as Hannibal did the same.

“Would you… Could I see?” Hannibal asked after some time had passed, his voice tentative and uncertain. “I understand if not, of course, but… Would you show me? Please?”

As much as Face wanted to take that last step and show Hannibal the complete truth, the scars and his wasted muscle, a large part of him froze up at the suggestion. He had just about grown accustomed to his new body, to the pale and skinny legs that were so far from what he used to have. The scars on his lower back from multiple surgeries were, obviously, out of his sight but he had seen pictures of just how bad they were. Would Hannibal run screaming at the sight? Face didn’t want to scare his lover away, that wasn’t the way he had to do this. Charissa had been right, he realised – no way he could ever have convinced Hannibal he didn’t love him anymore, no way he could have convinced the older man that he didn’t need Hannibal’s love in return.

“John… I don’t know if I can,” he confessed eventually, burying his head back into Hannibal’s blessed warmth. “It’s not the ‘me’ you knew, not anymore.”

A gentle kiss into his hair, one arm drawn tighter around his shoulders while a tender hand slipped beneath his chin, lifting his face up until they were eye to eye once more. “I don’t love you for your body, baby. I never have. I love you for what’s inside, for the man you are.” A brief pause, as Hannibal clearly fought to get his emotions back under control. “It doesn’t matter, to me, what you look like. And it doesn’t matter, if you think you can’t show me. I love you, regardless.”

“No. You’re right.” Hannibal’s words gave him strength, and Face lifted himself off all the wonderful warm muscle, flopping back into the pillows as he started to unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers.

* * *

Heart pounding, Hannibal hesitated only a second before reaching out to help Face slide out of his shirt, letting his hands run soothingly over his boy’s changed body as each new section of skin was revealed. Face didn’t push him away, though he couldn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes either, which made the colonel frown mentally.

Face had always been so confident in his body, parading around in little more than a pair of skimpy shorts at times, working so carefully to maintain all that perfectly honed muscle. But now, Hannibal could feel him trembling slightly as the shirt was finally peeled free, placed carefully on the bed within easy reach, and Face hesitate before popping the button on his jeans.

“This is easier in a chair,” his lover whispered after a moment. “Do you think you could – ?”

“Of course. Relax.” Hannibal kissed Face very gently on the lips, feeling how tense his boy was just at the thought of showing Hannibal his body. He kissed him again before sliding down the bed and carefully helping to remove the ill-fitting jeans. Face’s legs were completely limp, his feet flopping to the side when Hannibal drew them through the foot holes, but he tried hard not to stare at them. Instead, he quickly shucked his own shirt in an attempt to make Face more confident, before climbing back onto the bed and kissing Face a third time, keeping their foreheads pressed together before pulling back. “Okay?” he asked softly.

A single, stiff nod, and Face bit his lower lip before starting to roll slowly onto his side, into the pillows, facing away from Hannibal. No grunt of pain, no sharp intake of breath, but Face was clearly so tense and worried that Hannibal couldn’t help but kiss him again, on the nape of his neck, before pulling back enough to look at his lover’s damaged body.

“Oh, Face…” he breathed, fingers hovering over the long scar that ran from beneath loose boxer shorts all the way up along his lover’s spine, nearly to his shoulder blades. It was clearly well on the way to fading, as much as it ever would, but it remained a vivid shade of pink, shocking on skin that had always been so tanned. Bisecting it were two other scars, horizontal across Face’s lower back, and another, at a slight angle, which disappeared diagonally beneath the waistband of his boxers as well.

“Doesn’t hurt, not really,” Face told him, staring resolutely at the far wall, his voice dry and emotionless. That worried Hannibal more, that Face could be so calm about this; he’d had nine months to come to terms with it, at least, but surely he should still be angry, frustrated. “Some nerve damage, besides the obvious spinal cord damage, but mostly I suffer with muscular pain. It’s manageable.”

“Oh, my boy…” He trailed his fingers slowly from the top of Face’s spine, moving downwards, feeling the heat of his lover’s skin, feeling the slight quiver of muscles as his touch awakened them. Feeling the smooth scar tissue. “Why didn’t you tell me? At the very start, when you first woke up after the accident, why didn’t you let Sosa call me?”

“I explained all that, Hannibal. You couldn’t have helped me, you couldn’t – ”

“I should have known! You should have told me.” Reaching the boxers, Hannibal rested his hand timidly on Face’s hip. “You really feel nothing, here?”

Face’s head twisted down slightly, obviously trying to see where Hannibal was touching. “Nothing,” he confirmed with a soft sigh. “Not even pins and needles.”

Hannibal trailed his hand up and around, fingers brushing over Face’s lower stomach, until he heard a sudden intake of breath. “There?” he asked, keeping his hand still, just higher than his boy’s navel.

“Yeah, about there.” Face dropped his head back in the pillows and Hannibal swallowed hard, feeling renewed tears prick at the backs of his eyes. Face had lost so much, suffered so much.

He glanced only briefly at his boy’s legs, as pale and skinny as he’d expected, before stretching out full length behind his lover, spooning up close as they had always done. So strange now for Face not to move instinctively back into his arms. No movement of those limp legs to accommodate Hannibal’s own, no push of that perfect ass back into Hannibal’s groin.

But Face did shift his arms enough to let Hannibal wrap him up tight, tilted his head forward when Hannibal nosed into those soft curls. Long, strong fingers, rougher than Hannibal remembered, wrapped around his hands and pulled him closer.

“You are still so beautiful, my darling boy. Inside and out,” Hannibal whispered into Face’s ear. “Yes, you’ve got some nasty scars, but so do I.”

“It’s not just the scars, Hannibal. It’s everything that goes with them. This is who I am now. This is my life.”

“You should have told me. You know that, you have to know that. You shouldn’t have let me think you were dead, you – ”

“I don’t agree.” Face shifted in his arms, shaking his head slightly. “Are you going to be happy, walking away from here, walking away from me and knowing I’m like this for the rest of my life? Broken, useless?”

Ignoring those last words, for now, Hannibal growled, “Who says I’m walking away?”

“No option. I can’t go with you and you can’t stay.”

“There are ways, Face. We’ll find a way.” Hannibal thought hard, frantically trying to come up with some options. He’d spent the drive over here going over every idea he could, and there had to be options. There just had to be. “We can take on different sorts of jobs, settle down more. You’re good with computers – we can do tech work, you can do surveillance…”

“And if you have to run? If Decker finds you? I’m not Speedy Gonzales here: you’d have to fetch me, carry me around. And I still need medical care. I’d be nothing but a liability.”

“No, Face. No.” Hannibal squeezed his arms tight, pulling Face’s back to his chest. “You could never be a liability, nor a burden.”

“Think, John.” A note of desperation in Face’s voice now, mixed with complete determination. “I’ve done nothing but think since this happened, trying to find something I missed, some way to make the team work. But there is just no way, not without putting all of you at risk of capture. Or worse, at risk of injury. I will not let that happen. I can’t let that happen.” 

“Face – ”

“No, John. No.” Face lifted one of Hannibal’s hands to his lips and pressed a long, warm kiss to his fingers. “Just no. Let’s just enjoy this for what it is, before you take me back to Charissa. Before you go, and stay free. You have to stay free, for me.” 

The beginnings of another sob in Face’s voice now, and Hannibal didn’t want that, despite the sting of tears in his own eyes. Freeing one hand for a brief second, he pulled a blanket across to cover them both before cuddling back into his boy. Wishing he could think of something else to say, he murmured, “I’ve got you, kid. I’m here now.”

Somewhere in the motel, a door slammed shut, but in the room an easy silence fell between the two men. Hannibal held Face as tightly as he dared, and as the minutes passed he felt his lover grow heavier, breaths starting to even out as sleep beckoned. He could certainly relate – he hadn’t been able to sleep on the flight over, mind buzzing with both nerves and excitement about seeing Face again – but right now he wanted to simply soak up every moment he possibly could. Face was really alive, though Hannibal was starting to fear his boy might be right. How could they possibly go on the way they had, on the run, with Face in a wheelchair and still in pain? How could Hannibal stay with him now, wanted as he was? 

With Face asleep, or dozing at least, Hannibal was the one to realise more doors were banging open and slamming shut, and the angry shout of voices could now be heard in the corridor and in the room next door. Not loud enough to hear the words, but instantly his senses were alert and on edge. It was the middle of the afternoon; there shouldn’t be any drunken arguments or lots of people coming and going. From outside the window, a distinctive squeal of car brakes added to the tension, and Hannibal suddenly knew, deep in his gut, something was very wrong.

 

* * *

So warm and settled in his lover’s embrace, so tired all of a sudden, so exhausted from trying to do everything by himself for so long, it took Face a long time to wake up when Hannibal started shaking him gently.

“Wake up kid,” he heard hissed into his ear, as those wonderfully strong arms suddenly withdrew from around his body. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

A door slamming in the corridor pierced Face’s sleepy haze, eyes snapping wide open as a muted shout drifted through from the next room. He propped himself up awkwardly on one hand as Hannibal slide off the bed behind him. “What the hell…?”

Another shout, from the corridor this time, and even more banging from the room next door. Confused but alert, Face watched as Hannibal snatched his shirt from the floor, shrugging it quickly over his broad shoulders, and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt a warning twang somewhere in his lower back from lying in an unusual position, but gritted his teeth through it. Something was very wrong outside their cosy little bubble.

“Could be nothing,” Hannibal murmured as he threw Face’s own shirt and jeans onto the bed. “Or it could be Decker. We need to go, right now. Thank goodness this room is on the lower floor.”

But Face made no move to grab his clothes, shaking his head slowly and feeling his heart sink. This moment had come too soon, and he wasn’t ready. Though how could he ever be ready for this?

“I can’t, John,” he reminded his lover softly, and watched as Hannibal froze in place, midway through putting his second shoe on. “Go. You have to go without me.”

“I told you, I’m not walking away.” Hannibal dropped the shoe back to the floor, the dull thump in stark contrast to the loud banging as more doors were clearly being opened and slammed. The sounds were getting closer, but all Face could focus on was the look of heartbreak on his lover’s face, and for a split-second he doubted himself – maybe he could try this, maybe he should. “I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you, not now I’ve found you again,” Hannibal vowed, his voice clearly cracking with emotion, and in two long strides he was across the room to Face’s bedside, slipping one arm beneath Face’s shoulders and the other beneath his limp legs, sweeping him easily up and into his arms.

Face couldn’t hold in a gasp at the sudden change in position, though something about this felt right, being cradled in his lover’s strong arms, something he’d dreamed of on so many long, lonely nights. But he had to think with his head not his heart. “John, you have to go,” he whispered, even as he tightened his arms around Hannibal’s neck.

“I’ll carry you.” 

If the situation hadn’t been so desperate, Face would probably have laughed at the image – him clad only in his boxer shorts, pale skinny legs on display for all the world to see, and Hannibal with only one shoe on, shirt still unbuttoned, running from the military.

Sliding one hand up into that short silver hair he loved so much, he tugged Hannibal’s mouth down to his own and kissed him long and hard, one last time, even as what could possibly have been gunfire sounded in the corridor outside.

“Go, please. Hannibal, go now.” Don’t beg, he told himself firmly, knowing that wasn’t the way to get through to the older man when he was in ‘colonel’ mode. “There’s no time. You have to run; as long as they don’t catch you, they have no proof, and I’ll be safe. They can’t hurt me. And you have to stay free, or else none of this was worth it.”

Hannibal tightened his arms around Face’s broken body, hauling him even closer, lifting him higher. Face clung as tightly as he could for just a second, pulling his lover’s head down onto his shoulder and kissing his hair, just behind his ear.

Another slam of a door, running footsteps now, and Face started pushing Hannibal away, suddenly feeling strangely calm and focussed, though his resolve faltered slightly when he saw the tears running freely from his lover’s eyes. 

“Go, Hannibal.” He kissed his handsome man once on each cheek, tasting the tears. “If you love me, go.”

Stiffly, moving almost on autopilot, Hannibal laid him tenderly back onto the bed, and Face snatched up the blanket to cover his legs. More voices, more footsteps – his heart thundered almost in time with the pounding as more doors were open. They were so lucky this was a large motel, even luckier that Decker seemed to have lost any sense of subtlety. If it was Decker. Hannibal had to go, couldn’t be caught here. Not after everything they’d both suffered.

Finally, it seemed Hannibal reached the same decision, hanging his head for a second, that long lean neck so very tense as Face tenderly brushed his cheek with fingers he knew were shaking badly.

“I’ll find you,” his lover whispered, agony clear in his voice. “I will, sweetheart, no matter how long it takes.”

“I love you.” So much more he wanted to say, but no time, as the dreaded knock finally landed on their door. Face shoved at Hannibal with both his hands as his lover paused too long. “For fuck’s sake, Colonel, just go!” he hissed.

And Hannibal snapped into action, head up, one last stolen kiss, and he was moving at last. Face leaned back into the pillows, chest tight but eyes dry, and just watched as his lover snatched up his other shoe, hopping to the window as he tried to get it on.

“I promise, I’ll find you.” Hannibal didn’t look back as he forced the window open, breaking the security grate as if the metal was nothing. They’d done this too many times over their years on the run, smashing their way out of locked rooms. Face wouldn’t miss that particular adrenaline rush.

The knock on the door turned to the hammering of fists, and Face called out loudly, “Just a second, please! I’m coming!”

“Open this door right now or we’ll force it,” came a loud, military voice. Could be Decker, Face thought dimly, as Hannibal paused with one leg outside now, checking to see if the coast was clear.

“I’m disabled here, remember?” Inwardly, Face groaned a little at using that word. He didn’t like to think of himself as disabled, though he clearly was. Broken, maybe that was a better word. Shattered. “I’m coming!”

Hannibal looked back at him one last time, pain written clearly all over his handsome features at having to leave. His tears had dried though his eyes were still red, his cheeks pale, but Face managed to force a small smile.

“I love you,” Hannibal told him before swinging his other leg over the windowsill and disappearing out into the grounds of the motel, just as the pounding on the door became the sturdier thud of military boots.

The doors were reinforced but not enough to stand up to repeated kicking and, even as Face managed to lift his legs off the bed and climb to a sitting position, taking his weight on his hands – see, officer, I was trying, he thought with an internal grin – it finally gave in, smashing open and swinging inwards to collide with the dresser. Immediately, two men dressed all in black burst into the room, guns raised, buzz-cuts identifying them instantly as military police.

“Freeze!” barked one, and Face huffed a dry laugh as the gun was trained on him.

“I’m not going anywhere in a hurry,” he told the officer, even as the second man started to sweep quickly through the rest of the room, checking the ensuite before heading straight for the open window.

MP number one took half a step back towards the door, which was hanging half off its hinges, keeping his gun trained steadily on Face the whole time. “Colonel, Sir, we’ve found Jordan,” he called over his shoulder, and it took Face a long moment to remember that was him, Anthony Jordan. “Raise your hands,” the officer told Face, who just laughed again.

“Unless you want me flat on my back, I can’t,” he explained, keeping his voice steady, trying not to be patronising. He could almost hear Hannibal’s voice in his head, saying not to antagonise the man with the gun. “I can’t stay upright on this mattress.”

“Stay still,” the officer told him again with a wave of the gun, just as Decker stalked into the room, his own gun drawn but down by his side.

After directing a smirk at Face, the colonel turned straight to the second MP, who was speaking rapidly into a radio mic on his collar, head sticking out the window, gun at the ready. “Well?” Decker asked of the soldier. “Where’s Johnny-Boy?”

The officer gestured at the open window, even as he pulled his head back inside. “Team three are heading him off, Sir. He can’t have got far.”

“Go,” Decker barked, and the young soldier didn’t hesitate any longer before climbing straight out of the window. Face offered a quick prayer, hoping that Hannibal had enough of a head start to get away, though he kept his features carefully blank, merely quirking an eyebrow as Decker finally turned back to him.

“You want to explain just what the hell you’re doing, Rod?” he asked, enjoying the way the older man’s face turned red in anger at the use of his first name. “What, a man can’t take a nap in his own motel room? Am I breaking my parole in some way?”

But Decker didn’t answer, listening intently to his own radio for a moment before asking Face, “You want to tell me where he’s going? Make this easier on yourself?”

“Where who’s going?” Face shot back, determined to buy Hannibal as much time as possible. “Just me here, taking a nap, remember?”

“With the window wide open?” Decker looked almost amused, clearly distracted by the information coming over the little radio earpiece. Once again Face got the distinct impression that the colonel knew he wouldn’t talk, was merely going through the motions. Decker wasn’t stupid, and he knew just how loyal Face had always been to Hannibal and his team.

“What, a man can’t get a little fresh air?” he bantered back, but Decker held up a hand for silence, turning his back on Face yet again and speaking rapidly to the remaining MP in hushed tones. After the young soldier nodded once, Decker took a single step closer to the bed, where Face could already feel his arms starting to cramp from holding his position.

“I’ve already got Sosa. And I will catch Johnny.” Face found himself suddenly looking down the barrel of Decker’s gun as the colonel pointed it directly at him. “Do not move from this position.”

Face had to bite his tongue to swallow back his instinctive retort, settled instead for offering the most murderous look he could possibly muster. Decker swept from the room, executing a perfect military parade turn, and as suddenly as it had started it was all over, leaving Face alone with a single MP and a gun trained steadily on him.

“Just gonna get comfy, not going anywhere,” he told his guard as he slowly lifted his legs back onto the bed, eliciting a frown but no further threats. His head was spinning with the speed everything had unravelled – if Hannibal was captured now, because Face had led him here, because Face had failed to keep him safe as he had always planned, then all of the pain of separation over the last nine months would have been for nothing. 

Hannibal had to stay free. He simply had to. Else what had been the point of anything?

* * *

Instinct, that’s all it was. Pure instinct, to dodge the swarming teams of men dressed all in black. No thought needed, not after so many years of running from the military, no conscious effort necessary to make a swift plan. Avoid the obvious, so up a fire escape, over the roof, leap to the next building, down another fire escape, through a hedge to a roadside, busy but not dangerously so. Straight across, a small wooded area, out into what might have been a business park, a small huddle of parked cars. No concentration needed to break into the nearest, hot-wire it, drive away.

The whole time, Hannibal felt his heart was breaking in two, if there was enough of it left intact to break any further. What was Face going through right now, back in that motel room with Decker – it had to be Decker, there were simply no other options. He’d seen the black vans from the roof of the motel, recognised the search pattern of the teams outside the building. 

Exactly why his old friend hadn’t burst straight into their motel room was a bit of a mystery, but a welcome one – the motel was one of the largest he’d seen for some time, in a life lived mostly in motels over the last few years – whatever the reason, focussing on the military side of things kept him from thinking too much about his boy.

He had to see what was happening, couldn’t simply drive away and leave Face to all that. There might be some way to get to him, to carry him safely away, though with the number of officers he’d seen Hannibal doubted it. He hoped his lover had been right, that Decker wouldn’t be able to do anything to him without evidence, but he would almost certainly be arrested and detained for now. His poor boy, back in the clutches of the military yet again, just because Hannibal wanted more time with him, had to see the damage for himself. Couldn’t walk away.

Pointing his new car back towards the motel, he managed to reach into his pocket and free his mobile phone. Glad he’d kept it on him, he thumbed Sosa’s number and held it to his ear as he merged into the steady stream of traffic. It rang only twice before being abruptly cut off. A second attempt only produced a message telling him the phone was turned off and he couldn’t leave a message.

Dropping it into his lap, trying to resist the temptation to floor the accelerator, Hannibal swore loudly. Was Sosa behind this? Had she turned him in, as threatened?

But the very moment the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it with an angry shake of his head. He didn’t like the woman, didn’t trust her at all, but she had been nothing but a friend to Face over these last months. Hearing the details of everything she had done, directly from his lover’s lips, Hannibal felt grateful the captain had chosen not to walk away, though he doubted he would ever be able to forgive her for her part in lying to him about Face’s death. She wouldn’t put Face in the middle of this mess, just to get at Hannibal, not after everything she had put on the line for him.

Which only left the option that something had happened to her, and the thought sent a shiver down Hannibal’s spine, even as he saw the motel complex coming up ahead of him. One glance at the parking area got rid of any lingering thoughts about staging a rescue – six or seven black vans there now, along with a jeep or two, and dozens of men dressed head to toe in black. No way to go back for Face, and with a heavy heart Hannibal drove past, keeping his speed steady and trying to blend in.

It looked like Decker had brought an entire special forces unit just to capture one man, and Hannibal couldn’t help but frown as he drove, planning to find a safe place to stop before trying Sosa again, maybe trying some of his contacts to see about Face. Decker hadn’t tried this hard for some time, not including that fateful trap back in the quarry that tore Face from Hannibal’s side.

Perhaps the other colonel was getting pressure from above, Hannibal mused. With one member of the A Team captured and jailed, even if Face had since been paroled, it was entirely possible Decker had been given extra resources to get the job finished. Hannibal knew, without a doubt, it must have been galling for Colonel Roderick Decker to have failed in his assigned task for so long, especially since he’d been brought in to replace Sosa as the supposed ‘expert’ on Hannibal Smith.

As he drove on down the road, eventually merging onto the highway back towards DC, despite the pain of driving away from Face temporarily, Hannibal laughed a little to himself at the memory of Rod Decker as he had been back at West Point, all those years ago. The two of them had never been friends, exactly, but they hadn’t been enemies either.

Decker had always been better at the more straightforward, right-or-wrong type of tasks. Facts, figures, rote learning – the stuff Hannibal could do just as easily, though never with quite as much enthusiasm as Rod. The more creative tasks, thinking outside the box and planning for impossible scenarios, that had been what Hannibal loved, what he still loved. And Decker had struggled with those, no imagination at all.

He respected the skills Rod had in different areas of strength from his own, even as he knew the other man respected him in return. Obvious even back then that they’d take different career paths, equally obvious that they would both excel, and Hannibal had rocketed up through the ranks in the Rangers while Decker moved slightly slower through the ranks within Internal Affairs, quickly gaining a reputation for both fairness and inflexibility. Not as incompatible as they might have seemed; Decker thought in black and white, and lived by the letter of the law, though he was a smart man and knew when to pause rather than ploughing on regardless.

They’d crossed paths a few times over the years, though with no real drama, and even now Hannibal found something to admire in Decker’s dedication to his chosen task. He’d always though Decker must have taken it particularly personally, having a former classmate go rogue.

Lost in his memories, trying desperately not to fret over Face’s situation until he was in a position to do something about it, Hannibal almost missed the black van and familiar army jeep weaving their way through the lanes of traffic behind him, clearly trying to catch up. How in the hell had Decker spotted him? A stupid idea, perhaps, to cruise past the motel, but he’d had to check if he could get to Face, had to see if there was any way to rescue his boy.

It was possible that they hadn’t actually spotted him at all and were simply cruising, hoping to get lucky, so Hannibal slumped down a little in his driving seat, trying to hide both his height and his distinctive hair. At the same time, he subtly increased his speed and moved to the inside lane, in hope of a promising exit.

Checking in the mirror, he cursed as he saw the jeep moving up ever closer, although the black van had shifted out to the fast lane. Not close enough yet to see the driver, but Hannibal could make out at least one passenger as the jeep held its position about two car lengths behind him. 

Reluctant to try his luck in a high speed chase, especially as the highway was growing ever busier, Hannibal was glad to spot an exit rapidly approaching, no signposts but clearly not a main road. He wasn’t anywhere near as good a driver as BA, but he’d picked up a few tricks over the years, enough to fancy his chances, and he waited until the last possible moment before turning off, keeping his speed steady and praying he hadn’t drawn attention to himself or his vehicle.

He was partly successful, at least, as the black van continued on the highway. Unfortunately, the jeep turned off behind him, picking up speed as the driver clearly recognised his target, and Hannibal increased his own speed accordingly, even as the road grew ever rougher and more winding. It rapidly became clear the road was in fact little more than a track, and he found himself driving at some speed into a wooded area, bouncing hard as the number of potholes increased, fighting to keep control as he swerved away from sudden ditches at the treeline.

The jeep was better built for this sort of off-road driving than the standard car Hannibal had ‘borrowed’, and despite his best efforts, a quick glance in the rear-view mirror showed the other vehicle was right on his tail. And of course, it was Decker in the passenger seat, hanging on grimly to a strap in the roof, while the young driver had such a fierce look of concentration that it was almost comic to see.

“Dammit, Rod,” Hannibal muttered beneath his breath, before another crunch filled the air as he bounced over a particularly deep pothole. It slowed his speed just enough for the jeep to ram straight into the back of him, and he fought to keep control of the vehicle as it swung dangerously close to the trees, which were growing thicker and more dense the longer they drove. 

It seemed the near-miss had given Decker ideas though, as the jeep accelerated again to slam once, then twice into Hannibal’s rear bumper. “You trying to drive me off the road, Rod?” Hannibal wondered aloud, concentrating hard on the track as it continued to wind through the trees, their speed seriously dangerous now as the view ahead was continually obscured and the light from above was fading as the canopy deepened. 

Another slam from the jeep, a loud crunch, and Hannibal knew something was seriously wrong, the two vehicles jammed together now somehow and careening rapidly out of control. Pumping his brakes, he tried to slow them both down, but it seemed Decker had no intention of doing that, or possibly the jeep was beyond that, and miraculously they stayed on the track around the next corner. Hoping desperately for another pothole that might bounce them apart again, Hannibal suddenly realised they were out of luck.

In movies, things always seemed to happen in slow motion, but for Hannibal it was all too fast. He saw the thick branch lying across the track, saw the large pothole directly in front of it, thought briefly of Face and how it had all been for nothing, and the next second they hit. The whole world span out of control, over and over, and then sudden darkness. 

* * *

He couldn’t have been out for long. Sounds drifted back to him first, one at a time, long before he could manage to peel his eyes open. The ticking of an engine cooling. Wheels still spinning, metal rasping against metal. An ominous dripping sound – could be petrol, oil, perhaps just water, but either way that wasn’t a good sign. And moaning. A soft, pain-filled moaning. Was that him?

Hannibal managed to blink his eyes open to see the inside of his ‘borrowed’ car, windscreen smashed with glass everywhere, airbag deployed and deflated. And trees. Lots and lots of trees. He was upright, mercifully, and his seatbelt was still tight around his lap and biting into his shoulder. Quickly he tested all his limbs, wriggling his toes and rolling his neck carefully – no sharp pain, though certainly lots of bruises and aches, and his face felt as if it had taken the worst of the impact, on the airbag no doubt. Taste of iron when he swallowed, so perhaps he’d bitten his tongue or split his lip.

What the hell…?

Everything came crashing back all of a sudden, knocking the air from his lungs even as he started trying to claw his way free of the car. Face. The jeep. Decker. Another accident.

Moaning, again, and this time Hannibal was certain it wasn’t him. Cutting through the seatbelt with his pocket knife, smashing out what was left of the side window when his door refused to open, it was the work of minutes to climb out and stagger away from the steaming wreckage, turning away from the trees and back towards the track.

Hannibal paused a second, stretching his back and shaking the glass fragments from his hair. The jeep was upside down, rear end up in the air and resting on that damned branch. The wheels were still spinning slowly, and the dripping sound was coming from the jeep’s engine – something dark was pooling beneath the front bonnet, and the air smelled strongly of petrol fumes and danger.

Another moan and Hannibal was moving as fast as he could, kneeling down at the window of the overturned vehicle. “Decker?” he called, trying to see in. “You alive?”

“Yeah,” came a shaky voice from the other side of the jeep, and Hannibal realised he was knelt by the driver’s side. “I’m pinned, though. My leg…”

“Hang on, I’ll get to you.” The young driver’s face was a mask of blood, his body limp and more or less collapsed to the ‘floor’ of the jeep, what should have been the roof. Either his seatbelt had been snapped or, more likely, he hadn’t taken the time to put it on.

The door was already hanging off so, after quickly checking for a pulse, Hannibal grabbed the black uniform jacket the kid was wearing and hauled him straight out. No time for finesse as another small bang sounded from beneath the bonnet, a plume of smoke rising into the air.

“The whole thing could go up in flames,” Decker called out, voice a little stronger. “Get him away from here.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Hannibal grunted, not pausing as he dragged the young soldier away from both crashed vehicles, setting him down in the long grass by the trees on the far side of the track. “How’s your leg?”

“Hurting like a son of a bitch, how’d you think it is?”

Another quick pulse check on the kid – strong and steady at least, although there was an awful lot of blood on his chest as well as his face – then Hannibal was moving again. Back to Decker and the smoking jeep.

“Come on,” Hannibal growled through gritted teeth as he fell to his knees again before his former classmate. “Your turn.”

“Doors jammed into my leg,” Decker ground out, although Hannibal could see that for himself. All twisted metal, it looked like the jeep must have bounced on its side before settling upside down.

“Into it?” he asked, craning his head to try to see. “Or just pinned?”

Decker tried to shift, which was difficult enough since he was still hanging upside down, seatbelt secure. He stopped with a pain-filled groan, and Hannibal had to frown at just how pale the other man was becoming, despite the blood that must have been rushing to his head. “Just pinned, I think,” he gasped after a second. “Can still feel my toes. And no blood, I think.”

Hannibal immediately started tugging on the wrecked door, not caring if he shredded his hands in the process. “I can get this,” he muttered, throwing his whole weight into it and feeling the metal start to bend to his will. 

Decker started pushing from inside, at the same time telling Hannibal, “You know I’ve radioed for help already?”

But Hannibal didn’t pause in his efforts. “You think they’ll get here before or after the engine blows?”

As if to prove his point, a small fire suddenly ignited with a soft ‘whump’, on the opposite side of the engine from the growing puddle of petrol, but time was running out now. With Decker pushing as hard as he could and Hannibal throwing everything he had into hauling the door open, together they managed to free Decker’s leg. Simple work from there to cut the seatbelt and drag the man free, and Hannibal hauled him over towards the young driver, just as the whole jeep went up in a sudden explosion, throwing Hannibal forwards on top of his old colleague.

After the initial blast of heat and the shower of engine parts, ears still ringing, Hannibal dared to start lifting himself up, even as Decker started pushing at him. 

“You okay?” he asked the other colonel, crouching beside Decker’s injured leg. The pants were badly torn but, apart from a few scratches, the skin looked intact and there was no obvious break to the bones.

Decker stretched it carefully, winced, then nodded. “Thanks,” he said after a moment, and Hannibal could see his gaze was firmly on the burning wreck of his jeep. “Marlowe?” he asked suddenly, twisting around to look at his driver, who was starting to stir at last.

“Needs some attention, but I think he’ll live.” Hannibal watched as Decker pushed himself carefully to a sitting position before he couldn’t resist saying, “Looks like you’ve got a whole team of dangerous drivers.” At Decker’s questioning frown, he prompted, “The quarry. Face.”

Decker laughed, shaking his head. “You want to talk about this now? I’ve got a team on the way to this location, and you’re just waiting to be arrested! Allow me, please!”

Amused, Hannibal watched as the other man reached for his gun, letting him flail around in controlled panic for a moment before lifting his own hand. “Looking for this?” he asked, waving the colonel’s own gun at him. Decker immediately turned to reach for the driver’s weapon, but Hannibal stopped him by simply raising his other hand, in which he now held the second gun. “I wouldn’t bother.”

To his credit, Decker sat straighter and took a deep breath, rather than slumping back in defeat. “So this is how it ends, then,” he mused softly, those piercing eyes boring into Hannibal’s. “Never figured you for the cold-blooded murdering type, Johnny. That life of crime corrupted you even further than I realised, hey?”

“You know we were innocent, Rod. You aren’t stupid.” Hannibal raised the driver’s gun and hurled it over his shoulder into the woods, keeping the other trained steadily on Decker.

“All I know is the facts. And the fact is, there is no evidence General Morrison did what you accused him of doing. All I have to go on is your original sentencing and discharge, the fact that you went on the run, and my orders.”

“Don’t hide behind orders, Colonel. We were set up.” Hannibal tried to keep his calm, mind racing desperately. He should get going, really, before back-up arrived. He still had time to make it through the woods, find safety. But something made him stay.

“Then why run?” Decker laughed again, running one hand through his hair. Not the first time Hannibal had been asked that, but he stood by his decision. “The system would have caught up eventually, if you were telling the truth.”

“That isn’t how things really work, Rod. The system lost interest in justice for us a long time ago, and you’ve turned this into a witch-hunt.” For a long minute they stared at each other, two men who started off in the same place, though their paths had long since taken different directions. Hannibal wished he could make Decker see his side of things, but it seemed the other colonel was far too set in his ways by now. A thought crossed his mind, a thought that had never actually been out of his mind since he learned what really happened all those months ago. “What was Face? A warning shot?”

Decker didn’t even blink, clearly expecting the question. “An accident,” he answered simply, and Hannibal searched his old colleagues face for any sign of falsehood.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Decker continued, “The driver hadn’t seen those two kids, and then Peck was suddenly right there in the way, trying to save them. It was far too late for him to stop. He’s been disciplined, and he’ll never drive for the military again, but he was just doing his job. It was an accident – you think I wanted that? I never meant any of you any harm, but that won’t stop me doing my job.” A pause, before the other man added, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth, and I’ve told him the same.”

“Sorry can’t make my boy walk again. Sorry can’t change the fact you lied and said he was dead – ”

“That was his idea, did he tell you that? I thought you might crawl out of hiding for his funeral, but you didn’t even care enough to do that.” Hannibal cocked his gun and raised it a fraction, but Decker just smiled at him and lifted his chin in challenge. “Go on. Do it if you’re going to. Or run, but if you do, I’ll find you and those other clowns you call the A Team. The system can do what it wants with you after I’ve caught you; it won’t be my problem.”

So many possibilities, though shooting Decker was never really an option. So many thoughts rushing through his mind, idea after idea crowding his brain, thoughts of Face, thoughts of BA and Murdock. And in the same way so many plans had arrived in his mind over so many years of black-ops, everything suddenly became crystal clear.

Lowering his gun slowly though keeping his grip firm, Hannibal folded his legs beneath him and sank to the floor beside the man who was determined to capture him, whatever the cost.

“Rod, I’ve got a proposal for you…”


	4. Chapter Four

She’d long since decided not to bang on the walls or to call through the bars for attention. That wasn’t her style, not even remotely, thought the longer she sat in the cell with no one paying any attention to her, the more she started to think that screaming and shouting might be the most appropriate response. Not that she thought for a moment that it would make any difference, but it would certainly make her feel better.

With a sigh, Sosa shifted uncomfortably on the tiny bunk in her cell, trying to find a way to sit on the thin mattress that might cushion her a little from the cold stone walls. This was positively medieval, she thought with a shudder – a stone cell, one wall made up entirely of metal bars and a locked door, a slippery floor covered with something she didn’t even want to think about, and a low wall in the corner shielding what she expected was probably meant to be a toilet. She crossed her legs a little tighter. Not a chance in hell.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since that black van had pulled in front of her car and guns had been trained in her direction. Her watch and bag had been confiscated immediately, along with her belt and anything else that might have been useful, either to pass the time or as a potential weapon or threat.

She’d been handcuffed, read her rights – arrested under the code of military justice for aiding a federal fugitive – bundled into the van, then driven to the nearest town and thrown into this cell in the small police station. Her demands to speak to Colonel Decker or a lawyer had been met only with knowing smirks from the MPs, all of them young soldiers with buzz-cuts, and she hadn’t bothered struggling. What would have been the point?

It was Decker, Sosa was certain of that much, and if he wasn’t here questioning her, that had to mean he was chasing Hannibal and Face, either in that second black van from the diner or in one of the numerous other military vehicles she’d seen driving in that direction. The man was determined, she had to give him that.

If Hannibal and Face were caught… Well, it was the end of her career, that much was certain. Aiding a federal fugitive meant jail time herself, an immediate dishonourable discharge, and her entire carefully planned out future disappeared before her eyes, blown away like dust from a tent canopy in the desert. She could try to claim she hadn’t known who Face was meeting, but there was little chance of anyone believing her.

This had been the inevitable end, she supposed, since long before taking Face into her home. Even before she’d lied for him back in the hospital after his accident, right back maybe to that handcuff key on the docks in LA. A kiss that wasn’t a kiss, but a helping hand towards their escape. This had always been the risk she took, all those times she’d misdirected the chase for them, all the little bits of information she’d slipped them over the years. This was her choice, the chance she took. And she’d done it all willingly, even knowing it might lead here. 

Still, even knowing it was possible, she’d never expected it to actually happen. Not to Captain Charissa Sosa, rising star at the DoD. And she was pissed at the thought of losing everything she had ever worked for. Pissed at the thought of jail, especially.

But she kept her face carefully blank even as she shifted again on that thin mattress, hearing the dull clank of handcuffs as she moved her hands slightly in her lap. Funny, she thought, she’d always expected Hannibal and Face to break her out if something like this happened, with BA and Murdock close behind. Now, she was praying they both ran as hard and fast as they could. If Decker didn’t catch them, would he have the evidence he needed to ruin her life?

Though she had to think her life would be ruined if she had to be broken out of prison, too. She wasn’t built for a life on the run, just like Face himself, now.

Face. What would happen to him after this? That was the thought that pierced through her anger, at the whole situation and at herself, a stab of pity for her former lover, her friend. At bare minimum his parole would be revoked and he would be returned to Bragg, probably no longer safely in the medical wing but in with the general population. What might happen to him there? She shuddered to think of the attention he would draw – an easy target, still a very handsome man, but relatively helpless now. She’d heard enough rumours about what went on in jails to ‘pretty boys’ like Face, even in military custody where they should be safe.

And his mental welfare would be shattered, all over again. The fragile beginnings of optimism for the future, the start of a new more positive outlook she’d hoped would continue, all of that had already been shaken by Hannibal’s arrival back into Face’s life. To see Hannibal arrested, dragged through the courts all over again, sent to a distant prison… Sosa honestly didn’t know if Face would be strong enough to survive that, not now. And she would be locked up herself, far from both of them, unable to offer any kind of support or comfort.

There was always the other half of the A Team, she realised suddenly. Would Murdock and BA be able to find out what happened, and could they plan to break them all free? It had been their colonel’s plans used on their last prison breaks, but could the two remaining free members of the team pull off a similarly audacious rescue? Three of them, in fact? Or, far more likely in her opinion, would Decker simply be waiting to snatch them up and complete his ‘full house’ of fugitives?

Pointless, of course, to speculate until she knew more. Until she knew, at least, whether Face and Hannibal had actually been captured. Maybe the colonel had got away by himself, leaving Face somewhere safe. Or perhaps they were both on the run now, determined somehow to make it work – with Face’s on-going physical needs and his obvious disability, she seriously doubted it could work, but all the same she wouldn’t be surprised to hear that. 

And maybe, in that case, she’d have a chance of pleading ignorance, a chance of reclaiming something of her life and her career. This dismal view from behind bars wasn’t necessarily her inevitable end after all.

More to pass the time than out of any immediate use, she started to compile a mental list of people who could help her. She’d always been good at networking, and she knew already which lawyers she wanted on her case. Knew who would be her first phone call when she was eventually offered one – in fact, she frowned, she should have had that by now. She had rights, after all.

As if someone had read her mind, at that very moment she heard the door at the far end of the corridor squeak loudly as it was opened. She was in the very last cell in a row of eight, staring at a stone wall. No one else in the cells but her, and she knew they had to be coming for her. This was it.

Sitting up straighter, dropping both feet to the floor, she decided she would play dumb, watch her words. And she certainly wouldn’t be standing to attention or trying to salute with her hands cuffed together. Decker could take a running jump if he expected that from her.

Footsteps in the corridor, a bang as the heavy door slid closed. Just one set of footsteps, she thought. Decker, probably, come to gloat. But the person who came into view was the last person she’d expected, and couldn’t possibly have been the source of the footsteps.

“Face?” Forgetting her determination to stay still and be uncooperative, Sosa was on her feet and across the cell to the bars in a heartbeat. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He winced at her last questions, and she quickly took in his appearance. He was dressed in the same clothes she’d last seen him in, though his shirt wasn’t buttoned quite right, almost as if he’d dressed in a hurry. His face was pale, his eyes almost haunted as he met her gaze through the bars, but it wasn’t his voice that answered her.

“You’re both free to go,” Decker told her as he stepped into view, limping slightly, gesturing for her to step back as he moved forward to unlock her cell door. “All charges against you have been dropped, Captain, and a car out front will take you both wherever you need to go.”

Face closed his eyes and hung his head, but Sosa resisted the urge to hurry straight to his side as the door slid smoothly open. 

“I don’t understand.” She looked back and forward between the two men in confusion. Decker was filthy, his uniform coated in mud and darker stains which could have been blood. The right leg of his uniform pants was effectively shredded, a clean white bandage visible from knee to ankle, and there were even traces of mud on his face where he had obviously washed it in a hurry. “Colonel, what happened?”

Decker pursed his lips, showing her a handcuff key before tossing it in her direction. “I wouldn’t ask too many questions, Captain. I might change my mind.”

She fumbled to catch the key, immediately started to try to free her hands, then growled in frustration. She couldn’t get the right angle. At that point Face raised his hollow eyes, and a faint smile ghosted across his features.

“Come here,” he murmured, holding out his hands, and Sosa moved cautiously out of the cell as Decker stepped back to the far wall, leaning against it with a barely concealed wince. 

“What happened?” she asked for the third time, panic starting to rise in her stomach as Face made short work of the handcuffs, his long fingers working the tiny key with ease. Rubbing her wrists instinctively, though the cuffs hadn’t been too tight, she watched her friend carefully. “Where is he?” she whispered after another long moment of silence, terrified the colonel had been killed in the chase.

At Face’s wince, she feared she’d found the truth and immediately started trying to think what she could possibly say or do to help him through it, but then Decker spoke up again. “On his way to prison, Captain. Where he will take full responsibility for the fiasco in Iraq, the escape in Los Angeles, and the chaos his team have caused since then.”

“What?” Sosa looked to Face again, wondering why he wasn’t in cuffs himself, on his way back to prison. “I don’t understand…”

“He did a deal,” Face murmured, voice rougher than Sosa had ever heard. “We go free. Murdock and BA too. He tells them it was all his idea, and he takes whatever punishment they see fit.”

“But that’s…” Actually, Sosa realised, that was typical Hannibal Smith thinking. A way to free his lover and his other two men, a way to protect them all. A way to protect her, too – perhaps a thank you for the way she had helped Face. Typical Hannibal, sacrificing himself for his lover and his team.

Face nodded, a bitter laugh pushing past his lips. “That’s Hannibal, right?”

“Colonel.” Sosa stood straighter as Decker pushed himself off the wall, holding his right leg stiffly. “Is it true?”

“Yes.” The older man was already turning away, heading back down the corridor and away from the cells. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have calls to make and paperwork to complete, especially regarding former-Captain Murdock and former-Corporal Baracus.”

“You really have the authority to do this?” Sosa was incredulous; she found it hard to believe this had all happened in just one afternoon. That BA and Murdock could really be pardoned, just like that. That Hannibal could be jailed.

Decker heaved an audible sigh, shoulders dropping slightly for just a second, but when he turned back to them he was the picture of military precision once more, despite his filthy uniform. “I have the authority,” he confirmed, and the steel in his eyes and his voice wiped away any doubt Sosa might have had. “My orders were always to end this situation using whatever means I deemed fit. This way, it ends. Right now.”

“With Colonel Smith jailed indefinitely?” She tried to ignore the tiny gasp from the man behind her and kept her gaze focussed on Decker. “With all due respect, Sir – ”

“No, Captain, enough. No due respect. Let’s not beat around the bush anymore.” A hint of exhaustion in Decker’s voice now, and Sosa wondered what exactly he had been through that afternoon. Not that she cared much, except for Hannibal and Face’s involvement. “I have no idea what sentence will be agreed for Johnny, but I don’t expect it will be anything as dramatic as locking him up and throwing away the key. A few years, perhaps. Until the media attention dies away. As you’ve seen with your own release, Mr Jordan, the military wants this situation over with, wants it done. And I’ll say it again: this way, it ends right now.”

“Face needs to see him.” She kept her voice quiet, calm as she studied Decker’s impassive features. She could feel Face’s presence behind her, his pain an almost physical throb. “Please,” she added when the colonel’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Silence for a long moment, before Decker nodded once, turning immediately to the door and opening it. “I’ll be in touch,” he told them over his shoulder. “In the meantime, if you happen to hear from the other half of the team, tell them they are free men.” And he was gone.

Sosa turned slowly to where Face sat, motionless in his wheelchair, hands folded loosely in his lap. His gaze was locked on the door Decker had just passed through, and he looked even more drained than previously.

She dropped carefully to a crouch in front of him, resting her hands on the arms of his chair, trying to catch his eye. “Hey,” she murmured, but he wouldn’t look at her. Slowly, she threaded one hand up into his messy curls, stroking gently until he blinked and those bright blue eyes finally focussed on her. “Hey there. You okay?”

“No. I’m not.” His whispered words were some comfort at least. He hadn’t retreated completely into himself. “Is this my fault?” Face asked her, his voice shaky and full of pain, and Sosa knelt up enough to pull him into a loose embrace.

“Oh sweetheart, no. It’s not your fault, of course it isn’t.”

Face sniffled into her shoulder for just a moment before pulling back, wiping a hand over his eyes, and she let him go, climbing back to her feet and straightening her clothes. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered after yet another long minute. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Now, we go home.” Before Face could argue, she pressed straight on. “We take Decker’s ride, get back to my car, and go home. Wait for Decker to call us, and in the meantime we start call everyone we know who can help.”

“I need to find a way to contact Murdock and BA.” Face was nodding now, looking a little more alert and focussed. She could do this much at least, help him formulate a plan. “Maybe BA’s Mama might help, she might have a number or something for them.”

“Sounds like a good starting point.” Not wanting to rush him, Sosa lingered in the corridor until Face hauled himself straighter in his chair, dropping his hands to the wheels and starting to move himself forwards. She fell into step behind him, stroking her hand through his hair one last time as he passed her.

“You’ll get through this, Face,” she told him as they reached the door leading through to the rest of the police station. “I’ll help you, you know that. And I’ll help him too, if I can.”

“Thank you.” Face paused briefly in the doorway, glancing up at her, and Sosa was reminded of the time weeks earlier when they had left a different jail, in a similar state of uncertainty. But this time, Face looked determined rather than nervous, and Sosa felt more certain he would be strong enough to cope with whatever happened next. “We’ll find a way, right? To get him out? It isn’t over yet.”

“It isn’t over,” she agreed, though she wasn’t at all sure Hannibal could be freed, not now he had willingly turned himself in.

Face took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I’m coming, John,” he murmured, and he was through the door before Sosa could say another word. 

* * *

Face had already been sitting, waiting, for almost an hour now, in a tiny interview room with only a single table and chair for company. They’d made him transfer into a prison wheelchair, a bulky metal contraption that was nowhere near as cushioned and comfortable as his own, after he’d been through metal detectors and pat-down searches, had his wallet and keys confiscated, finally being parked in here with a glass of water and told to wait. 

Still, waiting he could do. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but he suspected they were waiting for him to give up, to start making demands, and he had no intention of giving them any reason to make him leave. Not before he’d seen Hannibal. 

Decker had been true to his word, phoning Charissa barely an hour after he’d left them in that small-town police station. He’d given them a time and a place – a military base just outside DC where Hannibal was being held before being transferred back to prison – and a few instructions. Nothing to the media, not yet, not until the military knew what they wanted to do with their newly captured fugitive. The paperwork for Murdock and BA was being pushed through, though apparently Hannibal had not been willing to tell Decker how to get in contact with them. Face could understand that at least. Trust only went so far, with a deal like this.

As the clock ticked over into the second hour, Face started doing some shoulder stretches, or as best he could manage in the unfamiliar and unforgiving wheelchair. The last few days spent driving for hours coupled with unfamiliar motel beds had been more of a strain than he’d expected, and his body was feeling it now. He wasn’t used to this anymore, he realised with a rueful smile. He wanted his own bed back at Charissa’s, and he actually wanted to see his physiotherapist quite badly. He knew Kim would lecture him long and hard, but she would be able to sort out the knots in his back as well, and he would willingly sit through hours of lectures to get some sense of normality back in his muscles. Painkillers could only go so far without knocking him out.

But any level of physical discomfort was worth it to see Hannibal. Face still couldn’t believe his lover had done this, sacrificed his freedom so easily and willingly, after everything they had gone through to stay out of the military’s grasp. After everything Face had done to keep him free. Hannibal’s idea of repaying the debt, perhaps, the kind of equation that could only make sense in a mind like his. Even after so many years together, as colleagues then friends then lovers, Face still didn’t pretend to understand everything that went through the other man’s head.

Finally, nearly an hour and a half after Face had arrived, there were noises in the corridor outside, and he turned expectantly towards the door. A guard entered first, doing a quick visual sweep of the room, before gesturing to another guard who stood waiting outside. And then, Hannibal was there, dressed in a grey prison sweat-suit, hands cuffed to a belt at his waist.

Face took a long, deep breath but said nothing as the first guard unlocked the waist belt but left the handcuffs on, speaking to Hannibal in a low and serious voice. “No funny business, okay, Sir?”

“Agreed.” Hannibal had a small smile on his face as the guard left the room, closing the door behind him. Face was surprised for a moment that they were being left alone, but then he remembered the two security cameras trained on them, and the wall of mirrored glass that obviously concealed an observation room. They were being watched, of course they were.

And finally Hannibal turned to him, those pale blue-grey eyes Face loved so much burning with emotion. “Hi there,” Face said with a smile of his own, eyes raking over his lover for any sign of distress. “You okay? They looking after you?”

“I’m fine, kid.” Hannibal moved quickly across to Face, squeezing his shoulder gently before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. “They’re treating me good, so far. Nothing but the best for the infamous Hannibal Smith.”

“I bet they’re all falling over themselves to be the ones guarding you.” Old, familiar habits – banter back and forth, avoid the issues, don’t talk about anything important, not when you’re being watched. But it wasn’t enough, not this time, and Face shook his head with a sigh before asking, “Why, Hannibal? Why did you do this?”

“Oh Face…” Hannibal heaved a sigh of his own, resting his cuffed hands on the table and leaning forwards slightly. “You really have to ask me that?”

“After everything we’ve been through? After what I did to you, letting you think I was dead? After I told you the only thing that helped me was knowing you were out there free? Yes, I really have to ask you that.”

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, Face leaning forward to match Hannibal’s position. It was Hannibal who blinked first, shaking his head. “It was the best option, the only option.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Hannibal smiled. “I know. But I couldn’t run, knowing they had you and Sosa. Couldn’t leave you to face that on your own.”

“We would’ve been fine. They had no proof.”

“This time, maybe. But what about the next time?” Face watched as his lover hung his head for a moment, saw the tension and pain bubbling beneath the surface. When Hannibal continued, it was in a whisper, though the cameras were undoubtedly picking up every word. “You were right, kid. You said it yourself, I couldn’t walk away from you. Knowing you were alive, hurting. I would have had to find a way to see you again, and this was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But this? Turning yourself in, taking all the blame.” Face dropped his voice to a whisper too, leaning even closer. “Damn it, John, I didn’t want this.”

“I did.” Hannibal’s voice was suddenly stronger, that majestic silver head snapping up. “This is my choice, kid. My right as your commanding officer. This way, it ends. Right now.”

Face couldn’t help but recognise Decker’s words, knew the two men had worked on this deal together. “I can’t believe they agreed to it,” he said slowly. “I can’t believe they would pardon Murdock and BA, just like that.”

“That’s why I haven’t told them how to get in contact yet.” Hannibal was suddenly all business, sitting straight in his chair. “I want my lawyers to go over the pardons, in detail. I want it all legal and signed off before they know anything. I won’t take any risks, with any of you boys.”

“Charissa’s been working with your legal team already, checking everything out. And I’ll check it all over, too, before I tell them,” Face promised, watching as Hannibal nodded in obvious relief. “But still, John – ”

“No, Temp. No buts.” Hannibal took Face’s hands at last, holding them loosely in his own on the table top. “It’s done. It won’t be forever, and then I’ll be free too. The media will go nuts over this, you know they will. And hopefully I’ll have a few protesters of my own to shake things up a bit, like you did at your ‘funeral’.”

“What?” Protesters? Face knew very little about what had happened at his staged funeral, still having been in an awful lot of pain after the initial operations on his spine, still having been heavily doped up on a vast cocktail of drugs. 

Hannibal frowned. “She didn’t tell you?” And Face listened in wonder as his lover told him of the group of protesters that had stood outside the church, silent and respectful, demanding freedom and pardons for the A Team, demanding justice for Face’s death. People they had helped, whose lives the team had changed for the better. 

“I didn’t know,” he breathed when Hannibal ran out of words. “My god, I can’t believe it.”

“We’ve done some good, these last few years. Despite what the military might think.” Hannibal squeezed his hands tighter. “It won’t be forever. A few years, perhaps.”

“Years… I can’t, Hannibal, I just…” Face shook his head, feeling despair start to build despite his determination to be strong. Only six months they’d been apart the last time they were jailed, before Hannibal had been able to engineer escapes for all of them. The thought of going years without seeing his lover, years with Hannibal locked away in a jail cell, was almost too much to handle. It was far worse, somehow, than the thought of never seeing Hannibal again, of the other man thinking Face was dead – at least Hannibal would have been free, that way.

“Yes, you can.” As Face shook his head again, Hannibal moved up and around the table, dropping to one knee by Face’s side. “Yes, you can,” he repeated, voice low and strong, the tone that Face always listened to, no matter how bad he felt. “You can do this. I can do this. It won’t be like before, I promise. For one thing, I expect plenty of visits.”

Face smiled through the dampness in his eyes. “I can do that,” he murmured.

“And you have to be the one to tell Murdock and BA. Tell them about what you’ve been through, as well as what I’ve done here. Tell them they’re free men. And tell them you’ve been alive all this time.”

“They’re gonna be pissed.” Understatement, Face thought grimly.

“No kidding.” Hannibal smiled broadly, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “But then they’re going to get over it, and be so incredibly grateful that you’re alive, just like I am. The three of you together again, kid. Come on!”

“I can do that,” he repeated with a nod, feeling Hannibal’s strength start to have an effect on him.

“And I expect you to get yourself together, Face. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you, being paralysed, but you have to get yourself together. Don’t sit around and wait for me, get moving. Get your life started again.”

“Hannibal…” That threatening despair was back again, but his lover rested cuffed hands on Face’s knees, though of course Face couldn’t feel anything. “John, I don’t know how…”

“You’re stronger than that, kid. I know you are. You’ve got Sosa, and I’m glad of that, but you’ll have BA and Murdock too. Use that chaplain you told me about, talk to him. Take whatever help the Army offer you.” Hannibal smiled again, and Face could tell it was meant to be reassuring, though it just looked a little too sad for that. “And you’ve got me, Temp,” his lover whispered. “Even if I’m locked away, I’ll always be here, for anything and everything. And when I get out, however long that takes, I’ll never leave you again. Ever.”

Face bit his lip, hard. Everything seemed so easy when Hannibal said it like that, so simple. After a moment he managed to nod, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile of his own. So much he wanted to say to his lover, none of it appropriate in a monitored military interview room with an untold number of observers behind that mirrored wall. Would they have to talk in code for the next few years, always careful of how they touched each other? Instead of kissing the other man as he wanted, he sat a little straighter, clearing his throat. “Are those your orders, Sir?” he asked, and Hannibal straightened too, though he didn’t move his hands away from Face’s limp legs. 

“They are indeed, Lieutenant. I expect them to be followed to the letter.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Face somehow forced himself to pull off a little salute, though he knew it didn’t come off quite right, seated as he was. Hannibal seemed to appreciate it, nodding in response, though he didn’t return the salute.

Instead, Face watched as Hannibal looked up at first one security camera then the second, turning to stare long and hard at the mirrored wall. “Fuck it,” Face heard him murmur. “What more can they do?”

Immediately knowing what Hannibal was thinking, Face started shaking his head, bracing hands to the other man’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare – ” he started, but Hannibal turned back to him with a gleam in his eye and a smirk on his face. His lover quirked one eyebrow upwards in question, and all Face’s resistance crumbled. “Fuck it,” he agreed with a smile, and Hannibal surged up, seizing Face’s lips in a bruising, crushing kiss.

Face was glad he’d locked the brakes on his wheelchair as Hannibal’s full weight landed in his lap, dimly aware that would probably have been highly uncomfortable had he been able to feel anything below his waist. Any other coherent thought was swept away as his lover threw everything he had into the kiss, fully aware that the guards were almost certainly on their way round to the room, ready to pull them apart and drag Hannibal away.

Hannibal’s cuffed hands were at Face’s neck, caressing the soft skin there and stroking along his bearded jawline, the gentle touches in stark contrast to the fiery passion in his kiss. In turn, Face simply locked his hands around his lover’s shoulders, feeling all that barely contained strength he loved so much, kissing his man back with everything he had.

All too soon there were hands trying to separate them, strong hands trying to pull Hannibal away from Face. Stubbornly, he held on a moment longer, keeping his lover as close as he could, until he heard the distinctive sound of the safety being snapped off on a gun. Holding his hands in the air, he blinked open eyes he hadn’t realised had slipped shut, watched as Hannibal offered no further resistance as let himself finally be hauled away and pushed against the back wall. In the blink of an eye, the chain around Hannibal’s waist was reconnected to the handcuffs, two guards moving in to seize him roughly by the arms, but all Face could do was smile at the thoroughly well-kissed look on his lover’s handsome face, thin lips swollen and cheeks flushed, a fire burning in those wonderful blue-grey eyes. 

Keeping his own hands raised, aware of the guard stood by his side with a gun, Face kept his eyes on Hannibal as the guards started to drag him from the room. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” he called, twisting in his wheelchair to keep his lover in sight as long as possible. “Be good!”

“You too, darling,” came the cheerful response just before Hannibal was marched away out of sight, and Face finally dared to lower his hands to the wheels of his chair before snapping off the brakes, expecting to be thrown out of the facility fairly soon now. 

As he turned, the guard next to him was clearly trying not to laugh out loud, while another guard by the door just looked completely stunned. They’d probably thought they’d been prepared for anything, Face realised with a smile of his own, still feeling the wonderful pressure of Hannibal’s lips on his own.

“What?” he asked the two guards, plastering on his best ‘innocent’ face. “Don’t tell me you never heard the rumours?” And there had been rumours, since the very first day Face had joined Hannibal’s unit. Ironic, really, that it had taken them as long as they had to actually get together, fighting all that underlying sexual tension and carrying on as normal until they had gone on the run, their reputations already in tatters. Hannibal was right – what else could the Army do to them? Face held no fears for his lover in jail; Hannibal could take of himself, and hopefully Face would find a way to get him released sooner rather than later.

The two guards exchanged baffled looks as Face started wheeling towards the door, keen to be moving now and use some of this energy he’d gained from his lover. Charissa was waiting for him outside, though he hadn’t thought he’d be this long, and he had things to do now, tasks to accomplish. Orders to follow.

The first of those being some very difficult conversations with his two best friends. If he could track them down.

* * *

Sosa closed her front door after saying goodbye to Face’s physiotherapist, and stood there a long moment, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. The time had come, and it couldn’t be put off any longer. She hoped the legal teams had done their work well so far, and she hoped both Face and herself were up to the task.

Gathering up the two thick folders of paperwork from the dining table – amazing how many papers and forms this whole thing had generated already, even in a supposedly digital age – she swept up her phone too and carried them towards Face’s bedroom. Knocking once, she didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door and entering, juggling everything in her arms.

“Hey there, handsome,” she announced herself. “You still in one piece?”

“Mostly.” Face didn’t move an inch, lying completely flat and still on his back on the bed, one arm thrown up and over his eyes, the other flung out onto the bed beside him. Kim had pulled a thin sheet up to his waist before she’d left him, and Sosa prayed he was wearing at least a pair of shorts beneath that, but he was still topless from the workout he’d been put through, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his lightly muscled torso, shining in the light drifting in from the window.

“She put you through your paces, huh?”

“That woman is pure evil,” Face mumbled, clearly exhausted after a long session, the first with his physio in over a week. “Or she’s a genius. I can’t decide. Either way, feels like I’m floating right now. Don’t ask me to move. Ever.”

With a smile, Sosa padded across the room and dropped the folders onto the far side of the bed, perching on the edge herself. “Next time we take a road trip, you do your exercises, right?”

“Yes, Mom!” he teased her gently.

“Given our past relationship, that’s just disturbing.” She kept a straight face as her friend smiled widely, though he still didn’t move his arm from over his eyes. “But speaking of Moms…”

“It’s time?” Face, of course, knew immediately what she was talking about. They’d spoken of little else since leaving Hannibal in jail two days earlier.

Face had taken the whole thing better than she’d ever dared to hope. Rather than spiralling back into a depression, it seemed almost to have given him a new focus, working towards freeing his lover, and checking the pardons for his two friends were legitimate. He’d thrown himself into all the legal side of things with a passion she hadn’t seen for a long time, listening to her advice on lawyers and working with them, knowing he was by no means a legal expert of any kind. Being able to con his way through life could only get him so far.

It was early days yet, of course, but Sosa thought at least it was easy to see Hannibal’s reasoning, which must help. It was a straight swap – he had given up his own freedom in exchange for Face and Sosa’s freedom, immediately, and BA and Murdock’s freedom, soon. That, at least in Sosa’s mind, was far easier to explain and understand than the decision Face had made nine months earlier, which made this next phone call the most difficult. 

“I finally heard back from the legal team,” she told the man lying still on the bed. “It’s done. All signed, sealed and delivered. The joint chiefs, and the President himself.”

“No escape clauses for the Military if they change their minds? No parole conditions?”

Sosa shook her head, though Face wouldn’t see that. “All clean. Their dishonourable discharges will stand, and there will be no form of apology or compensation offered. But we already knew that.”

“They’re really free? Pardoned?”

“It’s done,” she said again, hardly able to believe it herself.

After a moment, Face found the strength to lift his arm away from his eyes, and Sosa wasn’t really surprised to see tears rolling slowly down his cheeks, though there was still a smile on his face. This whole thing had been a complete rollercoaster, for all of them, and even a strong man like Face could only take so much, after what he’d been through.

“He did it,” he whispered, blinking hard, and she knew he was thinking of Hannibal. “So, it’s time. We need to get the ball rolling and give her a call.”

She waved the phone at him. “We do indeed. You still want me to do it?”

He paused, frowning slightly, and Sosa gave him a moment. She knew Hannibal had asked him to make the calls himself, but she understood why he had asked her instead. Sure enough – “I think so. As much as I want to talk to her, I can’t do this over the phone. It was hard enough with John, that first time, but BA will kill me for real if I give his mother a heart attack.”

Face had told her a little of the team’s relationship with the woman he called ‘Mama B’, BA’s beloved and devoted mother who seemed to have adopted the whole team from the very first time she’d met them. Sosa knew how difficult that must have been for Face, who had grown up with no parents or family, but he’d brushed over the whole thing, only asking that Sosa be the one to call her. And only to get in contact with BA and Murdock – the big guy could figure out how best to tell his Mama that Face was actually still alive.

Between them, they had joked that it was a whole lot more complicated coming back from the dead than it had been for Face to fake his death in the first place. Sosa had pointed out that, actually, she and Decker had done most of the hard work back then, so in theory Face had to do most of it now. They had laughed for a moment, a black humour they both shared, before Face had looked completely guilt-stricken, ploughing straight back into the endless legal forms.

Now, she dialled the number Face had already given her, turning on the speaker option and placing the phone on the bed between herself and Face. It rang once, twice, and was picked up on the third ring, a clear and friendly voice answering simply, “Hello?”

“Hello there,” Sosa started, leaning a little closer down to the phone. “Am I speaking to Mrs Baracus?”

“This is she.” A note of caution in the woman’s voice, and Sosa couldn’t blame her. She had enough problems herself with sales calls, and she imaged BA’s mother would also have had issues with press hounding her about her son and his team. 

“Mrs Baracus, my name is Charissa Sosa. Captain Sosa. I’m a friend of Face’s. A friend of your son and his team.”

A pause. Sosa watched as Face let his eyes drift closed loosely, though she could see the tension in his upper body, knew he was listening intently. “I’ve heard of you, of course, Captain,” BA’s mother eventually continued. “You were with my Face for some time.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I was.”

“You of all people should know my phone is probably tapped, Captain Sosa.” It was, Sosa knew that for a fact. “But how can I help you today?”

“I need to get a message to your son, Ma’am. And it doesn’t matter if this call is being monitored – it will probably be hitting the news soon, breaking overnight. I wanted to call you first.”

“What’s happened?” Fear there now, though the older woman didn’t hesitate to ask the question.

“It’s good news, in part.” Sosa took a deep breath before continuing, “BA and Murdock have both been pardoned, in full; I’ve seen the paperwork with my own eyes and had everything checked over. But Hannibal has been jailed. He struck a deal with the military.”

“I don’t understand. Scooter’s a free man?”

Face smiled at that, though Sosa was confused for a moment. Who was Scooter? Perhaps it must be a nickname for her son.

“Er, yes, Mrs Baracus. They both are. I have no way to contact them, and I hoped, perhaps…” She let her voice tail off, not wanting to pressure the elder woman.

“I’m sure I can find a way, Captain. But I can’t quite believe it. So suddenly? And poor Hannibal, is he alright? That man has been through enough, surely, what with losing Face.”

“He’s fine, Ma’am. In good spirits.” Sosa took Face’s hand, squeezing it tightly and feeling how he held on to her in return.

“You know about Face, of course?” Sadness now, and Sosa marvelled at how expressive the other woman’s voice was, even over a long distance call. “You know how he was killed, and poor Murdock saw it happen.”

“I know what happened, Ma’am, but – ”

“He was my son too, you realise. My boy.” Steel in her voice, mixed with sorrow, and Sosa truly understood something of where BA got his strength from. She would love to meet this woman one day. But for now, she could only listen, holding Face’s hand tightly as his expression crumbled into grief of his own. “They are all my boys, Captain. And if this turns out to be a trap – ”

“It’s not.”

“ – If it turns out to be a trap, you’ll have me to answer to.” An audible deep breath over the line. “I’m sorry, Captain Sosa, it’s been a long and difficult few years. This is hard to believe.”

“I understand, really I do. And I promise it’s no trap. I know they’ll be suspicious and I can’t say I blame them. Please remind them they can trust me, they know they can. Ask them to call me, or if they prefer to meet me perhaps. They could come to me here in DC if they want.” She quickly gave Mrs Baracus her contact details, all her phone numbers, emails, her full address.

“Alright, child. I’ll tell them.”

“Thank you.” Sosa breathed a sigh of relief, watched as Face did the same, his toned chest rising and falling steadily. “Please, tell them it’s true and it’s important. And there is more they need to know, more good news I can’t go into over the telephone.”

“More secrets, Captain?” A soft laugh over the phone. “I’ll tell them, but I can’t make them trust you. My Scooter has to make his own decisions. I didn’t raise me a fool.”

“No, Ma’am, you certainly didn’t. And remember, you’ll see something of this on the news, very soon now, I expect.”

“I’ll be watching, child. Thank you for calling me.” A pause. “You will call again, if you hear anything more? And you’ll give Hannibal all my love? My poor boy…”

“I will, Mrs Baracus. I promise.”

“Mama, Captain Sosa. I’m just Mama.” 

Sosa smiled, knowing she might just have won BA’s mother over, in part at least. She had to wonder what Face and the others had told the woman about her over the years. She knew Murdock, especially, thought she was the devil. “Thanks, Mama. And I’m just Charissa. Goodbye for now.” 

“Goodbye, Charissa.” 

In the silence that followed the end of the call, Sosa just held Face’s hand until he shifted ever so slightly on the bed, wincing a fraction. “That went well, I think,” he said, voice more than a little rough around the edges.

“I think so too,” she told him softly. “You okay?” After he nodded, she added, “She’s quite something, huh?”

“I did warn you.” Face smiled again, squeezing her hand one last time before letting go. “So what next?”

“Next, I need to go into work for a few hours.” Sosa was still meant to be going overseas next week, but whether or not that happened now would depend on so many factors. Gesturing at the folders she had carried in, she told Face, “You need to look over these again; the lawyers just sent them over. For Hannibal’s trial. If you can sit up, that is.”

“For that, I can.” He clearly tensed as if to sit up, pulling his arms up before falling back onto the mattress instead with another tired little wince. “You know what, in a minute I can. I can read on my back for now.” Trying not to fuss, Sosa fetched him up the little lap tray he used at times, helped him lift the first folder up and get it propped on the book stand. “Fuck, I hate this,” he breathed, tugging a pillow underneath his head, and she just knew he meant everything, his physical condition, the renewed separation from his lover, the complicated situation with his two friends.

“I know.” She slipped off the bed, knowing by now not to fuss or to hover. Kim had possibly worked him too hard today, but she knew he would be fine with some rest. “I’ll bring you a painkiller before I go.”

She got only a grunt in response, and she looked back to see Face already engrossed in that folder of documents, arguments the lawyers were considering using for Hannibal’s defence. With a smile, she left him to it. She had work of her own to get back to, and there wasn’t much more she could do to help, not until BA got in contact. She could only hope that would be soon, for everyone’s sake. 

* * *

Hannibal had always expected that, if he was ever captured and jailed again, he would very quickly start going out of his mind with boredom and frustration. He wasn’t good at being inactive, and he certainly wasn’t good at doing what he was told. He’d spent decades in the Rangers leading his own various teams with a certain level of freedom to solve problems as he saw fit, within certain rules and guidelines, technically, though of course he’d always treated those with a large pinch of salt. Then these last few years spent living free, on the run from the law but still free men, free to do the work they chose, free to travel as they wanted, free to help those who asked for it. Even back before he joined the army, he’d had an easy, loving childhood, parents who indulged him as much as they were able to, encouraging his quick mind and adventurous streak. So prison should have been the worst thing in the world, for a man like Hannibal Smith.

That first stretch behind bars, that long six months after the whole fiasco with the plates, hadn’t been too bad. He’d had a focus that whole time, using his contacts to find out what had really happened in Iraq, putting the pieces together in his mind. Waiting for Lynch to make his move. Surprised it had taken the man as long as it had.

That first stretch behind bars, he’d kept busy, glad of the tasks he had to do. Planning how he would eventually get to his three boys, break them free so they could clear their names and resume their lives. After their second escape in LA, after any remaining hopes of returning to the Rangers had been dashed, Hannibal had thrown himself into keeping his boys together, keeping them going, forging a new life. And that life had been based on the fact that they were free and determined to stay that way. None of them wanted to go back to jail, Hannibal especially. 

Jailed indefinitely, sitting behind bars awaiting a new trial, should have been enough to drive him mad. That’s what he’d always expected, at least. But instead, Hannibal found himself strangely calm and accepting of the whole situation. It was almost as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Nothing more he could do, now. It was done. Over.

And it had been his choice, which helped. Everything had become so clear, sitting in the mud beside that burning jeep with Decker, with a gun in his hand. He could have chosen to end things another way – one shot would have seen his old friend dead, though that would have achieved nothing. Nothing except making the Army even more determined to catch them, and there was nothing to say the next soldier they sent after the A Team would be as fair or as predictable as Decker was.

Decker had been predictable, even with a gun to his head. Hannibal had known the other colonel would be interested in a deal, sensing the Army just wanted the whole situation over and done with. Decker had been a man of his word so far, again as Hannibal had known he would be, pushing through the pardons for BA and Murdock, and arranging for Face to visit Hannibal before he was transferred back to a more permanent prison to await trial.

Thoughts of Face made him smile at first, then made his chest feel tight. So much had happened in such a short space of time, and Hannibal was still trying to process everything that had been said and done. The most important facts were still that Face was alive, against all the odds, and that he was now free, rather than being in jail himself. That fact alone made everything worth it, and Hannibal would gladly sit in jail for the rest of his life if it meant Face stayed free and was able to live his life. It actually made it a little easier to deal with Face’s decision, all those months ago, to let Decker fake his death in order to let Hannibal try to move on and remain free. He knew now something of what must have gone through his boy’s head, knew how incredibly determined he must have been. 

They were so similar, in so many ways. Hannibal had trained Face practically from the kid’s first days in the Army and he knew, for the most part, how his boy thought. Sitting in his jail cell had given him more time to think about Face’s actions after he’d been hit with that jeep, and the last of Hannibal’s anger had melted away. Face had wanted to protect him, had known Hannibal wouldn’t be able to walk away from him – and hadn’t Hannibal just proved his lover right on that count? No way to repair his boy’s shattered spine, no way to take Face on the run with him without causing him pain and suffering, and no way either of them would have been happy meeting up infrequently in dodgy motel rooms, always looking over their shoulder for Decker.

This way, it was done. It was over, for Murdock and BA as well. Hannibal had reluctantly accepted Sosa’s help in pulling together a legal team, calling in some old favours of his own as well as welcoming the leading members of the team that had helped Face get parole so quickly. He had no real intention of fighting the charges against him, concerned that he might risk his team’s freedom if he argued too hard that they had only been following orders. That hadn’t exactly worked out well the first time round, though obviously more facts had been exposed since then, after everything that had happened in LA. He would let the legal team do their work, though, on the understanding that he was taking responsibility for everything, without having to admit it directly in open court. 

In a way, the whole situation with Face gave him a stronger sense of optimism than he’d expected. If Decker had caught the team any other way, if his trap back there in the quarry all those months ago had worked, Hannibal knew the army would have quietly locked them all up and thrown away the keys. He’d never have seen any of his boys again, most likely, and that thought alone made it hard to breath. 

Instead, the media was already up in arms about his return to jail. The protesters he’d hoped for had come out in vast numbers – the power of the internet never ceased to amaze Hannibal, and his lawyers had shown him some of the many websites that had already sprung up demanding his release. Bits and pieces of the real story had leaked out, of course, and it had somehow become known that he had pulled Decker and his driver, a kid barely out of his teens named Private Marlowe, from the wreckage of their burning jeep after a high-speed crash. Comparisons had been made between his actions and Face’s ‘death’ all those months ago, hit by a similarly speeding jeep, and the talk shows on television were full of discussions about dangerous drivers and just how far the Army had actually gone to capture the A Team, and were the team really evil criminals or a force for good.

So Hannibal wasn’t finding it at all hard to be sitting in his jail cell, just thinking, though of course it had barely been a week. He’d spoken to Face every day on the telephone, a poor substitute for being able to hold his lover of course, but still that fact alone was a gift. The last time they’d been in jail, calls had been few and far between, in fact he’d only spoken to Face once in that whole time, their words to each other short and dry, knowing their call was being listened to. How much harder would that have been, he wondered now, if they had already been a couple?

This time, of course, their relationship was already common knowledge, thanks to Hannibal’s moment of madness back when Face had visited him briefly. No regrets on that front, and he’d already punched one prison guard who had tried to make it an issue. No one else had commented, no action had been taken against him, and Hannibal took some pleasure in knowing he was still an intimidating presence. So what if the infamous Colonel John Hannibal Smith had kissed his XO? There had been rumours for years, so no one should have been that surprised. And no one was, apparently.

His lover was doing okay, by the sounds of things, throwing himself into working with Hannibal’s legal team, and trying to contact BA and Murdock. No way by now that their two team mates hadn’t heard the news, but they still hadn’t contacted anyone in the military, or even called Sosa. Face had explained how he had asked Sosa to speak to BA’s Mama, wary of giving the lovely lady a shock over the telephone, and they had also left multiple messages on some of the discreet websites the team had used over the last few years to seek out new cases.

No surprise, really, that his two boys had gone to ground. Mama B didn’t raise a fool, and neither had Grandma and Grandpa Murdock – Hannibal knew his boys would be checking things out as well as they could, using all their contacts, hoping they hadn’t argued themselves to death in the process. He felt terrible for the way he had left things with them, the pair of them worried he might go and end things by himself after the pain of being back where his lover had ‘died’. He’d promised to call them twice a day, a promise he’d failed to keep, and when they’d heard the news that he had handed himself in…

Hannibal expected they would both be blaming themselves for not stopping him from leaving. Murdock would be thinking he should have seen it coming, should have known what his colonel was going to do, while BA would probably be wishing he’d just knocked Hannibal out and started driving to Chicago as they’d planned. The sooner they got in contact with Sosa and, by extension, with Face, the happier Hannibal would be. For Face’s sake, as well as his own.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sosa with Face. She had clearly looked after him as much as she could these last nine months, and she was helping Hannibal’s own legal team now. If he hadn’t trusted her, he wouldn’t have included her release in his deal with Decker. No reason to ruin the woman’s life just because he didn’t like her, he’d thought, and Face would need some sense of continuity as his whole world changed yet again. But the sooner BA and Murdock knew the truth about their friend’s injuries, knew that he was still alive, well, the sooner everything could start settling down. Even if that was with Hannibal locked up for the next decade or so.

He would far rather be out there with them, standing by Face’s side to deal with BA’s inevitable anger and Murdock’s probable meltdown when they found out the truth. He would give almost anything to be able to be with his broken lover and help him rebuild his life, one piece at a time, loving him as much as ever, showing Face that no matter how much his life and body had been changed, he would never be a burden to Hannibal. But he still felt that strange sense of calm, having put all the wheels of his plan into motion. Nothing more he could do right now, except wait and watch as events unfolded.

Decker had visited him, just the once, after he’d been settled in this half-way prison. Hannibal had been surprised, a part of him thinking he’d never see his old colleague again, but there he’d stood, in the meeting room where Hannibal had been expecting to see one of his lawyers.

“Rod.” Hannibal had nodded in surprised greeting as the guard left them alone. “How’s the leg?”

“Healing.” The trace of a limp but no crutches or heavy plaster cast, so obviously nothing serious. “I wanted to say thank you.”

The last thing Hannibal had expected, and he’d frowned slightly. “You’re welcome, of course. But you already said that.”

“I know.” Decker had gestured for Hannibal to take a seat, pulling out a chair himself and dropping into it, keeping his right leg stretched out in front of him. “But it needed saying again. Marlowe is finally out of the ICU, he’s going to be fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” An expectant silence had fallen in the room, a silence Hannibal had felt no need to break. Decker had come to visit him; if he had something to say he could say it, in his own time. Hannibal had no need to rush and all the time in the world.

Finally, the other colonel had cleared his throat, not quite meeting Hannibal’s eye. “Anyway, just wanted to see you were alright,” he’d said. “Make sure they were treating you good.” He’d stood up again, carefully, and Hannibal had done the same, perplexed, accepting the hand Decker offered.

“What next for you then, Colonel?” he’d asked as they shook, and Decker had smiled.

“Retirement, I think.” To Hannibal’s shocked look, he’d added, “We’re not getting any younger, either of us, Johnny. And what assignment could I take after this? I’m the man who captured the A Team, or at least, the man who captured both its second-in-command and its ringleader. I’ll bow out on that note with pride.”

“Then good luck to you, Rod.”

“And to you, Hannibal.” They were still clasping hands, but Decker had squeezed once more before letting go and stepping away. “It’s over now. But if there’s anything I can do, at any point…”

“Just see they do right by my boys,” Hannibal had asked, and Decker had nodded firmly. No more words were said, and he’d watched his former colleague leave in silence, not quite sure what had just happened. 

Looking back now, with a couple of days distance from that strange meeting, Hannibal wondered if maybe Colonel Roderick Decker had a heart after all – his duty done, his orders fulfilled, perhaps that was as close as the other man could come to admitting he knew the truth about the A Team. An acknowledgement of a debt, perhaps, from Hannibal saving his life that day. A debt Hannibal would never claim – Decker owed him nothing, as far as he was concerned, and he wanted nothing from the other man. Enough damage had been caused because of his determined pursuit of the team, Face being the most obvious example.

Thinking of his boy, Hannibal checked his watch, smiled. Only another hour until Face’s nightly phone call, and hopefully he would have some news of their awol team-mates. For now, nothing for Hannibal to do but sit back, and he stretched out as much as he could on his narrow bunk. Face would be able to scam him a decent bed when the powers-that-be decided where Hannibal would be housed more permanently, and he knew his lover would make sure he had every possible comfort while he was locked away. 

And it was with thoughts of Face that Hannibal drifted into a light doze, dreaming of the day, hopefully not too far into the future, when they would both be free men and he could be by his boy’s side every minute of every day. 

* * *

The doorbell rang for the second time, the sound echoing through the quiet house, but there was still no sign of Charissa so Face dropped his notebook to the table and headed through to the hall. “I’ll get it,” he called up the stairs to his oblivious house-mate.

“You seen my briefcase?” came the distracted reply.

“Dining room table,” he called back with a smile. Charissa was running late for a meeting, he knew, but the documents for Hannibal’s case, not to mention his friends’ two pardons, had taken over the house slightly. Face felt more than a little guilty for that, still very much feeling he was a guest in his friend’s home even if it was the closest thing to a home he had himself, but Charissa had assured him she really didn’t mind, and he knew she genuinely wanted to help.

“I already looked there!” 

“Well, look again!” Face was only partly paying attention to whoever was at the door as he stretched up to snap open the security chain, letting the front door swing inwards before half turning back towards the stairs to add, “At the far end of the table under the red folder!”

Shaking his head with a fond smile, he turned his wheelchair back to the door, ready to deal with whoever it was and what they wanted. Then his smile froze on his face as he registered just who was standing there.

“No way, man…” came the whispered words from one of the two men on the doorstep. It was BA, larger than life, looking completely and utterly shocked. Murdock was by his side, slightly behind him, clinging to the big guy’s sleeve as if begging for protection, eyes wide and face pale.

The sound of high heels clattering downstairs, moving into the kitchen, as Charissa continued to hurry around, oblivious to the scene at the door. “What the hell is it doing in here?” Face heard her call to him, but her voice sounded far away, underwater almost, as he stood gazing at the two people who were his best friends. “And just who’s at the front door? I swear, if it’s another salesman, tell them I have a gun, several guns in fact – ” Her footsteps clattered into the hall behind Face before stopping suddenly. “Oh. You’d better come in.”

For a long moment, the three of them stayed still, frozen in place. None of them spoke a word, just staring at each other in shock. Face opened his mouth, tried to say something, but no words came to mind. He hadn’t prepared for this.

Mutely, he rolled his chair backwards slightly, still unable to form words as BA seized Murdock gently around the arm and moved them both almost mechanically across the threshold, following Charissa through into the living room. Murdock’s eyes stayed locked on Face until he was dragged out of sight, but Face stayed by the door a moment, breathing hard, his chest tight. He hadn’t expected this, not even remotely. A phone call, or an email perhaps.

More time. He needed more time. But they were here. Now.

“Face?” That was Murdock, calling his name, sounding more than a little unsure. Face blinked away the moisture that had appeared in his eyes before pushing the door shut and heading slowly through to join them. He paused in the doorway, just looking at the scene before him. BA and Murdock had collapsed side by side on one of Charissa’s large sofas, leaning on each other as if for support, though the woman herself had remained standing, arms folded, a small frown on her face. 

His two friends just looked lost as they stared at him, and rightly so. Face felt completely at sea right now, though he’d imagined this reunion so many times in the last week, pictured how it would be to see these two men again. To his immense relief, neither man had changed much over the last few months, though to his amazement he realised he’d forgotten just how large BA’s arms were, and just how wild Murdock’s hair was beneath his ever-present baseball cap. 

“Surprise?” he tried after a long moment had passed, wheeling slowly across the room to face them directly, painfully aware of the way two sets of brown eyes snapped down to his wheelchair as if noticing it for the very first time.

But still neither man spoke, and Face swallowed hard as he turned helplessly to Charissa, who simply shrugged as if to say it wasn’t her show. And it wasn’t, to be fair, he knew that. She had done all she could be expected to do, and more.

The silence stretched on, with Murdock and BA exchanging confused glances, before the pilot spoke up hesitantly. “Is it really you? You aren’t a clone, or a fake? You’re really real?”

Face nodded. “Yes, buddy. I’m real. It’s me.”

“But they said you died.” Still hesitant, still unsure, but there was strength now in Murdock’s voice as he leaned forwards in his seat, throwing a swift glance across the room at Charissa. “She said you died. I saw you get hit by that jeep.”

Charissa looked quickly down at her watch, not intimidated by Murdock’s staring eyes, and Face suddenly remembered her meeting. She was already running late, and this… Well, this really wasn’t her discussion to have.

“Go,” he told her, catching her eye, and she hesitated only a second before nodding.

“You sure?” she asked, even as she picked up the briefcase she’d apparently found. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“No no no no no…” Murdock was on his feet immediately, stepping in front of her with his hands raised. “You gotta be kiddin’ me! Whatever this is, you’re at the heart of it – ”

Face tried to cut his friend off, worried about the other man’s mental stability, worried he might turn violent. Murdock had always been unpredictable at the best of times, and this was far from the best. “Murdock, buddy, I can explain. Let’s talk, just us three. I can tell you everything.”

Murdock didn’t move though, shaking his head and keeping his eyes locked on Charissa, who wisely stood still. Finally, BA spoke up, his deep voice soft but clear. “Let her go, Crazy. Come sit down, man, it’s okay.”

Murdock’s hands dropped to his sides and his shoulders slumped as if his strings had been cut. Face watched him scurry quickly back to the sofa, perching on the very edge practically in BA’s lap, still staring at Charissa. BA and Murdock had always had a volatile relationship, but Face knew it had always been a show to cover a deep friendship. That had never been more clear than at this moment, seeing how close they were sitting, how much they were relying on each other. 

Not for the first time, he wondered just what damage he had caused to these two strong men, by faking his own death and breaking up their close-knit team. Was it worse than the damage that would have been caused if they had found out how useless he was now, if they’d had to leave him behind?

Snapping back to the room, he looked over to Charissa himself. “Go,” he told her again. “I’ll call you, I promise.” With another nod she quickly left the room, and the silence grew again, punctuated only by the sounds of her stilettos hurrying on the floor in the hallway, and finally the sound of the front door opening then closing behind her.

Leaving them alone again, three men who had been closer than family.

Knowing this had to be a terrible shock, feeling the shockwaves thunder through his own veins, Face figured he had to be the one to speak first, and braced himself, hands on the arms of his chair to pull himself a little more upright.

“It’s a long story, guys, and I’ll tell you everything, I promise.” Face kept his voice soft, his eyes flickering back and forth between his two friends as they watched him closely. “But the short version is: yes, I’m alive. Yes, Hannibal is in prison. And yes, he struck a deal with Decker – he’s taking full responsibility for everything in exchange for your full pardons. You’re free men, as of right now.”

“The short version ain’t gonna do, Face. Are you with her now? El Diablo?” Indignant anger in Murdock’s voice, and Face cringed a little under the fury burning in his friend’s eyes. He’d expected BA to be angry, yes, but not Murdock. Never Murdock.

“No, I’m not with her. She’s been a good friend, buddy, and she’s helped me a lot. She’s even letting me stay with her here for a while, until I can get a grip on everything and get my head straight. But I’m not with her. I love Hannibal, you know that.”

A snort from the pilot. “Funny way of showin’ it. You let him think you were dead, but you been alive this whole time? With her?”

“Not with Charissa the whole time, no.” Face quickly gave them the slightly longer version of events – hospital, prison, parole. Watched the whole time as Murdock just kept shaking his head, tearing his hat off and turning it round and round in his hands. Watched as BA didn’t move a muscle, dark eyes just watching silently, taking everything in, his expression unreadable.

When Face stuttered to a stop, BA eventually spoke up again, his voice carefully neutral, eyes narrowing slightly. “So it’s forever?” the big man asked quietly. “The wheelchair, your back. Your legs. You really won’t get no better? The doctors can’t fix you?”

“It’s forever,” he confirmed softly, seeing pity in BA’s eyes though Murdock’s still burned with anger. Hating both the pity and the anger, though perhaps both were valid reactions, he tried to swing the conversation back round to Hannibal and the pardons. “The Boss found out I was alive, though he didn’t know about my paralysis, and he came to see me. Decker caught up with us, and Hannibal struck a deal to keep me from going back to jail, and to get your pardons. Everything you’ve heard is true.”

“I don’t give a damn about being pardoned!” Murdock again, as BA sank back into the cushions, one big hand raised to cover his mouth. “That wasn’t what these last three years were about. It was about bein’ free, about stickin’ it to the Army ‘cos they screwed us over. Bein’ together, the four of us. Now Hannibal’s in jail ‘cos of you. ‘Cos you lied to him. Lied to all of us.”

Face felt the heat of his best friend’s words like a physical blow to his broken body, and had to swallow hard again as powerful emotions fought to rise to the surface. “You were never meant to find out about me,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly. “The whole point of letting you think I died was so you could move on and stay free, without having to worry about me, without me being a burden for Hannibal, for all of you. You weren’t meant to find out.”

Another snort of laughter from Murdock. “It’s Hannibal, Face. You really thought, if there was somethin’ to figure out, that he wouldn’t go figure it out? You really thought he wouldn’t go chargin’ across the country to find you again?”

“I really didn’t think he would. I… I never thought much about that at all. I thought I’d be locked away in jail, and that would be that.” He ran a hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess that does make it my fault.” He’d already thought everything Murdock was saying, at one point or another over the last week. He did blame himself, though at the same time a tiny part of him blamed Hannibal too, for not running while he had the chance. For turning himself in. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, taking a deep breath, he added, “But it’s happened now. It’s done, and we have to deal with it. Together.”

“We’ll break him out.” Impulsive Murdock at his finest, and Face watched BA extend a meaty hand to rest on the pilot’s shoulder when it looked like he was about to jump to his feet, though he said not a word. “This is just… This… Damn it all to hell, Face. What were you thinkin’?”

“I wasn’t thinking, Murdock!” Face finally snapped, letting loose some of his own frustration over everything he’d been through. “I wasn’t thinking, I was hurting! I was fresh out of surgery, handcuffed to my hospital bed, with Decker hovering over me like some kind of dark angel. I was thinking about keeping you all safe and keeping you away. I’m sorry you’re pissed, of course I am, but for fuck’s sake, look at me!”

As he spoke, Murdock’s eyes drifted again to the wheelchair, the obvious symbol of Face’s life-changing injuries, staring long and hard. Some of the anger seemed to drain from his body, and he clamped his mouth tightly shut, shaking his head again slowly, as Face took another deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart before turning to his other friend, still sitting silently and staring with one hand over his mouth.

“Bosco?” he started tentatively. “You’re awful quiet, big guy. I get it, you’re angry too, but talk to me, please.” BA just blinked, his expression showing nothing but shock, and so Face tried again. “Talk to me, man. Shout at me. Anything. Just say something.”

When it came, the words were soft, heavy, muffled by the man’s big hand. “I don’t know what to say.” 

That was better than nothing at least, Face supposed, but he felt more than a little hurt that his friend had so little to say to him after so long apart.

“I don’t know what more I can say, to explain,” he told them honestly. Maybe they just needed some time, some space. He could give them all the documents to read through, the contact information for the lawyers, and just leave them alone. They’d come here to find Hannibal, not Face, after all. 

Maybe they had moved on. Maybe they didn’t want him anymore. Maybe they didn’t need him. All Face’s deepest fears about being unnecessary and being abandoned threatened to raise their heads again, but he ruthlessly shoved them down. It had been his goal all along to let his team go on without him, he thought with a mental laugh. Maybe he’d succeeded with Murdock and BA where he’d failed with Hannibal.

BA finally moved, leaning forwards again from his seat and dropping one hand back to his lap, though he kept his other hand firmly on Murdock’s shoulder, grounding the pilot and perhaps needing the contact himself. When he spoke, his words were slow, measured. “I don’t know what to say, Face, ‘cos I never expected this. Any of this.”

Face forced a smile, though he knew it was a weak, pathetic thing. “I get it, man. It’s okay,” he told BA, trying to keep his voice light. “Look, I’ll go, I’ll get you what you need and I’ll just go – ”

“No!” Two very different voices spoke as one, two very different faces looked terrified at the very thought, and Face froze midway through starting to turn away.

It was BA who managed to continue after taking a moment to gather himself. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, brother. You ain’t leavin’ us again.”

“But – ”

“Listen to me, Face. This ain’t what we expected, me and Murdock. We expected a trap. We expected to have to try and break Hannibal out of prison while runnin’ from Decker.” BA shook his dark head, and Face just stared at his friend, his brother, both fascinated and terrified in equal measures. BA wasn’t a man of many words, and for him this was a very long speech. But he wasn’t finished yet. “Instead of all that, we find you alive, when we thought you dead and buried.” A whimper from Murdock. “You’re hurtin’, yes, but you’re alive. And you’re tellin’ us it’s all true. Boss is in prison of his own free will, and we’re both free men.”

“Yes,” Face managed to whisper, hope starting to bloom in his stomach. What was BA trying to say?

“And you’ve got guys workin’ on gettin’ the boss out? Lawyers and all that?” Face nodded, and a rare and beautiful smile split BA’s face as he nudged the man sitting next to him. “Then, come on Murdock, we’ve had worse days!”

Face leaned back in his chair, stunned, as Murdock suddenly giggled, nodding his agreement as he leaned sideways into BA. “Pinch me!” the pilot suddenly said, holding out his arm to BA and pulling up the sleeve of his checked shirt. “Come on, pinch me, Bosco!”

“I ain’t pinchin’ you, crazy fool!” BA used his grip on the smaller man’s shoulder to shake him hard, though that rare smile was still on his lips. “You ain’t dreamin’, this is real.”

“Pinch me anyways, come on! You know you wanna!” Murdock kept waving his arm in front of BA, and Face felt a more genuine smile of his own appear. This was so familiar, his two best friends bantering away in front of him, as if nothing had happened. Months spent alone and in so much pain seemed to be forgotten as he watched BA give in, predictably, and pinch Murdock’s skinny arm, wringing a yelp from the pilot.

“Happy now?” BA asked, a laugh in his voice as he let Murdock shift away from him slightly. “Told you, you wide awake.”

“Might’ve been a dream,” Murdock mumbled with a pout, rubbing at his bruised forearm. “And you pinch way too hard. You’re a big bully!”

BA nudged Murdock again, harder than before, hard enough to knock him into the arm of the sofa. “You told me to pinch you, idiot! You said – ”

“God, I missed you guys.” The words were out of Face’s mouth before he was even consciously aware of them, and he watched in shock as the two men on the sofa immediately stopped their teasing and stared at him again. Throat tight with emotion, he tried to speak again but only managed a weak gasp as his eyes filled up with tears. He hadn’t wanted that – since when did he cry at the drop of a hat? – but two sets of matching brown eyes were suddenly damp as well.

Murdock moved first, hesitantly levering himself off the sofa by leaning on BA’s knee. “Oh, Facey…” he whispered, crossing the room to kneel by Face’s wheelchair, one hand extended as if to touch his arm but not quite making contact. Face stared at that hovering hand, finding it easier than making eye contact for some reason, as his best friend said, “You’re okay now, we’re here. I’m so sorry I yelled, you know I ain’t really mad, I just… I can’t believe all this, I can’t…”

“Murdock…” Face managed to whisper back, and something seemed to snap in both of them. He couldn’t say if he reached out first or if Murdock did, but somehow they were wrapped around each other, the pilot’s warm breath in his ear and skinny yet strong arms wrapped around his back, practically pulling him from the chair as Face clung on as well. 

“You’re alive, you’re real, you’re here, you’re alive…” came the whispered litany, repeated over and over again in almost a prayer, and Face squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he felt the tears start to flow down his cheeks. 

After what could have been seconds or could have been hours, a second arm suddenly wrapped around Face from the side. A heavier arm, a stronger arm. An arm that could only belong to Bosco Baracus, and sure enough, when Face managed to lift his head a fraction from where it had landed on Murdock’s shoulder, he saw BA kneeling on his other side, one arm around Face and the other around their pilot. Blinking away the tears for a moment, he smiled at BA as the other man leaned closer and carefully pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, lips warm against Face’s skin.

“We’re here, brother,” BA whispered before moving to rest his forehead on Face’s hair, pulling the three of them into a tight knot of family rediscovered. And Face just closed his eyes again, letting those tears flow, feeling Murdock's tears soak his t-shirt, feeling BA’s run into his hair.

They had a long way to go, he knew, before their little family was whole again. Hannibal’s absence was an aching gap he knew they all felt, and he wasn’t foolish enough to think the three of them would get through this without further shouting and screaming, tears and recrimination and blame. But for now, this was more than Face had ever thought he’d have – his two brothers, lending him their strength as they held him tightly between them. And the future suddenly didn’t seem as terrifying as it had just that morning.

* * *

“That’s the last bag.” Sosa dropped her suitcase in the hall before turning to lean against the doorframe into the dining room, watching as Face pushed his laptop away, not meeting her eye. “I’m all packed.”

“You got enough shoes?” A poor attempt at a joke, really – they both knew she was far too practical on trips like this, though her designer shoe collection had become a running joke between them, so she played along with her friend.

“Yes, one whole bag full of stilettoes, one pair in each colour of the rainbow. A girl’s got to make a good impression when she’s in London, right?”

Those bright blue eyes finally lifted from all the legal forms scattered around to meet her gaze, and she sighed a little at the mixture of emotions she could read there. There was no way this was ever going to be easy. At least it would be relatively quick.

After having to postpone one of her trips abroad – getting Murdock and BA settled and in contact with the legal teams had been a priority, of course – this new trip had come along at the perfect moment. A week in London with her immediate supervisor, liaising with British secret services, before taking charge of a small investigative team in Afghanistan, maybe even onto Pakistan afterwards. It would be a whirlwind tour, probably no more than sixteen days in total, but she’d been stuck in the office far too much recently and was more than ready to get back out in the field.

But it meant Face would be gone before she returned.

“You think they’re finally talking about promotion?” Face forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Sosa managed to smile back at him as she crossed properly into the room, dropping into the chair opposite him at the table.

“I hope so, but, well…” She shrugged. They still weren’t sure what effect Decker’s arrest and release of her would have, despite his promises that it had been deleted from her record. So far, nothing had been said to her by anyone on the subject, and Sosa was finally starting to believe the Colonel had been telling the truth. “You never know.”

Face took a long sip from his glass of water, clearing his throat. “You’re long overdue,” he said after a moment. “Major Charissa Sosa – has a nice ring to it!” After another pause, he added, “You’ve more than earned it.”

Sosa took his hand where it lay beside his laptop, squeezing tightly. She could say more, she could say how they both knew it didn’t always work like that, how sometimes it was about having the right contacts, or being in the right place at the right time – Face understood all that, though, and he was trying to make this easier for her, even after everything he’d been through. She just couldn’t muster the energy to slip into their usual banter, though. Not today.

Glancing at her watch quickly, she asked, “What about you? You started packing yet?”

Face laughed softly. “Not exactly got a lot to pack, let’s face it. And Murdock’s coming round later, he likes sorting things. Though you never quite know where everything’s going to end up when he does your packing for you!”

Later. After she’d gone. That shouldn’t be a surprise, not really – she’d had virtually nothing to do with the two pardoned men on a personal level, being present when required and making sure they met with the right people. Neither BA nor Murdock wanted anything more to do with her, and she could understand that. They’d not been rude, but they’d ignored her completely when she was in the room, avoiding her wherever possible.

They hadn’t been avoiding Face, though, far from it. Every moment possible had been spent together, the three of them reunited at last, and Sosa had dutifully taken the unsubtle hints thrown in her direction by Murdock and BA to keep out of their way, burying herself in work or taking herself off to her bedroom. Face had tried to include her, but their obvious joy in being back together, in finding Face alive even if he was badly injured, was wonderful to see and she didn’t really mind stepping back.

Face had been far more his old self since his friends had arrived, far more relaxed, even if the majority their focus was still on Hannibal. BA and Murdock had taken Face out with them in the van BA had hired, though they had refused her offer to let them both stay with her, and Sosa had been amazed to see Face allow the big man to lift him carefully from his wheelchair into the passenger seat for the very first time yesterday, rather than making them watch as he struggled to swing himself up into the high seat.

She’d also seen Murdock pushing Face in his chair – something he had never yet allowed her to do – and she’d struggled to restrain herself when the pilot had started doing ‘wheelies’ on the sidewalk, tipping his friend backwards and spinning them around. Watching anxiously from the window, she had seen the laughter the three men had shared, seen the way BA had cuffed Murdock around the head before taking Face away from him, seen the way Face’s knuckles were white where he gripped the arms of his chair, but also seen the genuine smile on his face as he laughed hard.

This was what he’d needed, she realised now. His team, his brothers. Hannibal, even if that could only be by phone for the time being. This was what she hadn’t been able to do for him, despite her best efforts. She could be a friend, of sorts, but she couldn’t be family.

And of course she understood all the reasons BA and Murdock didn’t want to talk to her. She knew they blamed her, and she knew she was an easy target for their lingering anger over the whole situation. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did, just a little.

“Hey, beautiful,” Face pulled her out of her thoughts, wrapping his other hand around both of theirs, long fingers stroking her wrist gently. “They’ll come around, you know they will.”

“Yeah, because BA and Murdock have always been known for their flexible and forgiving natures, right?” Sosa tried to keep her voice light, but she knew an edge of bitterness had crept in, knew it from the flinch that passed over her friend’s face. “Doesn’t matter,” she told him firmly. “I didn’t do it for them and, let’s face it, Hannibal is as much to blame as me for the situation right now. They should be pissed at him.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them, not knowing how Face would react to that. She knew just how hard the last few weeks had been on him, reconnecting with his two best friends but also having to deal with their endless questions, and watching from afar as Hannibal went through a closed-doors trial before being sent back to prison in Colorado.

Five years, they’d given him. Five years, rather than the ten they’d all been given previously, rather than the fifteen or even twenty she knew they could have given him. Five years, with parole probably an option in three. But still, five years.

Five years, and Face was devastated, though of course he was hiding it well. Again, Murdock and BA’s presence was helping, both in providing a distraction as well as working on an appeal. With their pardons signed and official, the two men were free to do as they wanted, and they were all moving to Colorado to be close to their Colonel. BA was already there, staying in a hotel while he looked for a house that would suit all three of them, putting Face’s physical needs at the very front of the search. Murdock had stayed behind, staying close to Face, and they were planning to fly down together in a couple of days, now it had been cleared with Face’s parole board. Flying in a commercial jet, rather than piloting the plane himself, and Sosa could imagine the pilot wasn’t thrilled about that, though Face, she knew, was nervous enough about flying for the first time since his paralysis.

She had to admit she was a little worried about him flying too, but she needn’t have worried about her previous words, though, as Face laughed instead of frowning. “I think they are a little pissed at the boss, to be honest,” he admitted. “And pissed at me, too.”

“They don’t blame you, though? I mean, they understand, at least partly?” She knew they’d talked, long and difficult conversations Face had brushed over when she had tentatively asked if he was alright, blue eyes rimmed with red when he returned from evenings spent at his friends’ hotel.

“I think they understand, some of it.” Face shook his head with a sigh. “It’s gonna take a lot of time, I guess.”

Sosa gave him a half-hearted smile, and for a long moment they sat in a companionable silence. She’d miss this, she knew, when she got back from her trip. Having him here, having someone to talk to. For a lot of his time with her, he’d been depressed and quiet, but there had been good moments too. Nights when they’d sat on the sofa together, Sosa usually reading reports while Face flicked mindlessly through thousands of channels on the television. Mornings when he’d been up early enough for them to share an easy breakfast together, passing the newspaper back and forth. It would be a far quieter, emptier house without his presence.

As if reading her mind again, he smiled at her, a gentle smile, and his eyes burned bright with emotion. “All change again after this, huh?” he murmured. “Any regrets?”

“No,” she answered immediately, not even having to think about the question. “No regrets, Face. None. Except for the obvious one – that the accident happened at all.”

“Same here.” Face stared down at his useless legs and his wheelchair, before shrugging. “It happened, though, and it’s shit, but everything else…” He caught her gaze again, as serious as she’d ever seen him. When he spoke again, his words were quiet but strong, his determination visible in every word. “I don’t regret the decisions I made, and I’m so thankful you agreed to help me. I wouldn’t have made it through this without you. Thank you, for everything.”

“Face, please don’t – ”

“No, let me say it. I know I’ve said it before, but really, thank you. You’ve done so much for me, more than anyone could ever have asked. And I’m so, so grateful.”

“Oh Face…” Sosa thought for a moment, wondered what could have happened if she’d refused his desperate request all those months ago, while he lay in terrible pain in a hospital bed, desperate to keep his team safe. If she’d refused to lie for him, refused to lie to Hannibal, and told his team the truth instead. Would they have been captured after all, scattered to secure prisons across the country? Or would they have been through a different kind of agony, desperate to get to Face but unable to help him. Would it have been worse for the team to have known, rather than to think Face dead? No way to know that, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would have been worse for Face to see his lover and his team locked up because they tried to get to his side in a prison hospital.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, and this time, she nodded.

“I’d do it all again, if you asked.” The absolute truth, and she knew he saw that as he nodded in return.

But neither of them were good at goodbyes, and this was goodbye, for now at least. As if on cue, there came the honking of a car horn from outside, breaking the silence that had started to grow between them once more. Her car, she knew, her ride to the base, ready to whisk her away to London.

“That’s your ride, gorgeous,” Face announced faux-cheerfully, patting her hand once before letting go and pushing back from the table. “Don’t keep ‘em waiting.”

Sosa stood and moved slowly around the table until she was standing in front of him, this man she had risked so much for, this man she had been determined to help. He was ready to make the next moves without her, now, in the company of others, and she knew he was stronger now than at any point in the last nine months, both physically and mentally. He would never walk again, but she at last felt confident that he would find a way to laugh and smile, a way to move forward in his new life somehow, as his imprisoned lover had told him to do.

And once Hannibal was free to join Face and their other two team-mates, she felt sure nothing would be able to stop him. If it took five years, or three years, or hopefully sooner, Hannibal’s sacrifice would be worth it for them all.

“Call me,” she murmured into his ear as she knelt to give him a quick hug. “Anytime, whatever you need, even if it’s just to say hello. My office can get in contact with me, and I’ll be back in DC in a couple of weeks.”

“You call me, too.” His arms were tight around her back for a second, then he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before letting her go, and she stood again, straightening her suit jacket. “The moment you get back, you call me. Don’t you dare be a stranger, Charissa.”

“I won’t be.” The longer she hesitated, the harder it was to leave him, so she gave herself a mental shake before leaning down to kiss his forehead. His skin was warm and smooth, and he felt so alive, so real, so very far from the broken man she had seen lying in that hospital bed all those months ago. “Stay safe, Face. Stay strong.”

Whirling away, she picked up her handbag from the far end of the table and left the room, blinking hard before her emotions could get the better of her, trying to pull her focus back to the job ahead of her. But a voice from the dining room pulled her back, one last time.

“Charissa!” Sosa stuck her head back around the doorway to see Face paused, hands on the wheels of his chair but not moved from where she’d left him. He gave her an apologetic smile before he spoke, his words soft, almost lost in the quiet of the room. “Don’t think I’ve said this recently, so, just in case… I love you.” He laughed a bit, seeming suddenly unsure of himself. “Not in that way, y’know, just…”

“I know.” And there were tears in her eyes now, damn it all to hell. So much for keeping her emotions under control. “I love you too, handsome. I’ll see you soon.”

Blue eyes met brown, and they both nodded at the same time, then that was it. It wasn’t romantic love they felt for each other, hadn’t been that for a long time now. Even all those years ago, when they had been together, she knew what they’d felt for each other hadn’t even approached the intensity of the love Hannibal and Face shared. 

But as she finally opened the door to the waiting driver, directing him which bags to take to the car, she couldn’t help reflecting that maybe the love she felt for him now was something other than ‘just friends’. Perhaps, despite all her worries about all the things she had done wrong with him, decisions she could have made differently, they had actually become a family of sorts. Different from his brotherhood with BA and Murdock, but still family. 

As the driver took her away from her house and towards her next job, towards what she hoped would finally lead to her long-awaited promotion, she sank back into the cushions with a satisfied little sigh, smiling to herself. Face might be leaving but she wouldn’t lose him from her life, a life that was still on the course she had always wanted it to take.

Career, front and centre once again, above everything. Her on-and-off fling, Graham, was still lurking around the scene, ever hopeful, and perhaps she’d give him a call too, once she got back into the country. After she called Face, of course. And with that thought, she reached into her briefcase for the folder of notes she had, determined to make every moment of this mission count.

* * *

Hannibal had asked him not to come in, not this time. He’d asked Face to wait outside, either in the car park or even outside the prison complex altogether, and so here he was, ‘pacing’ as much as it was possible to pace in a wheelchair, in a quiet corner of the visitor’s parking lot. He’d tried sitting in his van as long as possible, after arriving far too early of course, but he needed to be doing something, needed to be moving, full to bursting with an incredible excitement over finally getting his lover back after so many years spent waiting. 

The only real movement he could manage was wheeling himself in increasingly wide circles, and he was so thankful there were few other visitors arriving on this thursday morning, though Face was fairly certain he was being tracked by a cctv camera high on top a nearby pole. He had to resist the urge to wave, not wanting to be asked to leave. He’d been patient this long; he could hold on a little bit more.

It had been four long years. Longer, in fact. Four years, two months, three weeks and three days since that fateful day when Hannibal had chosen to lay his gun down and strike a deal with Decker. Four years, two weeks and six days since Hannibal’s trial, since he’d been returned to prison here in Colorado. Appeal after appeal had failed, and Hannibal had eventually asked them to stop, after that first year spent in and out of courtrooms.

“I asked you to find a way to carry on with your life,” Hannibal had said on one visit, over that hateful telephone from behind a sheet of bullet-proof glass. “This isn’t that way, sweetheart.”

“You are my life,” he’d replied, knowing it sounded a little pathetic, but also knowing it was true.

“Let it be, Temp. I’ll be out in a year or two, when the Army get sick of me. Let the media attention die away, let them forget all about me.”

“I won’t forget about you, John.” A fervent promise, meant with all his heart.

Hannibal had just laughed, pressing one big hand flat against the glass dividing their booth, Face reaching back to him. “You’d better not!”

So Face, BA and Murdock had let the appeals drop, following Hannibal’s orders as willingly as they had always done. It had felt so wrong to stop, though – so much of that first year together had been taken up meeting with lawyers and talking to the press, and suddenly they all had no idea what they were meant to be doing with their lives.

Face knew that, without BA and Murdock by his side, he’d have blamed himself for everything, for Hannibal being jailed. He knew he might even have slid back into a depression, knew Charissa would have tried to help him but would almost certainly have been out of her depth. But instead, the three of them had been able to help each other, leaning on each other for support, much as Face imagined the two of them along with Hannibal had leaned on each other after his ‘death’. He’d never asked them, though, suspecting his two friends wouldn’t tell him, the emotions still too raw and too real even after all this time.

Stepping away from the lawyers, they had emerged blinking in the bright light of the real world, taking stock of what little they had. It hadn’t been much. They’d been living on the last of Face’s compensation payments, which had just about all been spent on lawyers and living expenses. There was also a generous loan from BA’s Mama, as well as what benefits they were entitled to claim, even though all three of them hated the idea of accepting help of any sort. In this new real-world, they’d need steady jobs sooner rather than later, and for three men whose entire lives had been spent in the Rangers before becoming soldiers-for-hire, that hadn’t been a pleasant thought.

BA had been the first to get himself sorted, ever the quiet and practical man of their group. His military discharge didn’t negate all his engineering and mechanical training, and he’d walked straight into a job at a luxury car factory, a supervisory position that still gave him a chance to get his hands dirty. Nothing that would hold his interest forever, BA had admitted as much himself, but it was a job, a good job, and it kept him busy and kept the bills paid.

Murdock had been a whole other kettle of fish, as always. After the initial euphoria of finding Face alive, then the focussed year of organising appeals for their colonel, the sudden stop had led him to a sudden breakdown, not quite knowing what was real and what was just a dream. Talking to Face as if he really was dead, as if he was a ghost. Sleeping for days on end, then suddenly refusing to sleep in case everything he knew vanished and he was left alone.

With a heavy heart, knowing Murdock needed more help than either of them was capable of giving, BA and Face had called their friend’s old psychiatrist back from their time based at Benning, not that Murdock had ever seen him often. On his recommendation they had found a doctor nearby, and having someone to talk to, along with a steady and monitored supply of medication for the first time in years, had Murdock back on an even keel far sooner than Face could ever have hoped. As always, there were still manic days followed by days of quiet introspection, multiple personalities popping up unexpectedly along with sock-puppet theatres, but it was all just Murdock being Murdock, much to their immense relief.

As with BA’s mechanical qualifications, Murdock had come out of everything with his pilot’s license still intact, and by far the best thing he could have done was finding a job at the local airfield. Tourist flights mostly, some teaching time, and the occasional stunt display for shows. Enough to keep Murdock happy and occupied, when he wasn’t studying. 

Face blinked hard as he lapped the car park for what felt like the hundredth time, tearing up again as he thought of the way his two best friends had taken care of him, despite having their own difficulties in settling into their new lives. For some reason, he’d found it easier to let them help him than it had been with Charissa, easier than he expected it would be with Hannibal, once they were back home together at long last. He knew in his heart that he had nothing to prove to his two friends, and everything to gain from being open and honest. BA and Murdock took it in turns to attend his doctor’s appointments with him, and both had gotten involved with his ongoing physical therapy.

The damage to his spinal cord and other associated nerves in his lower back was irreversible and, after those initial six months where surgeons had helped him regain some control over his body, things would never get any better for him. He had good days and bad days, and mostly the pain was manageable with medication but he suffered from a lot of muscular pain, and always would, two visits from a physiotherapist each week keeping him in reasonably good shape. To his amazement, both his friends had tentatively asked to learn how to help him, and his physio Jake had shown them a few basic moves and massage techniques, with Face’s permission. Murdock, though, had taken things a step further and was attending college courses to qualify as a physio in his own right, determined to help Face in every way possible.

As for Face himself, he felt he was finally in a good place mentally, though still in a holding pattern of sorts until Hannibal was free to join him, despite his best efforts. He’d accepted his condition, as much as it was possible to come to terms with never being able to walk again, and he’d made his peace with the decisions he’d made after that day in the quarry, worked through the guilt he had still felt at putting his friends and his lover through the pain of supposedly losing him. He still remembered talking to Charissa, that last day with her at her house in DC, and he still stood by what he’d said. He didn’t regret his decisions – how could he, when they’d led them all here, to a point where three of them were finally living free lives and Hannibal, at long last, was about to be released from prison to start his own life as a free man, the four of them reunited at last? In a way, the wheelchair seemed a small price to pay for that.

Maybe things would have worked out for the best whatever happened back then, but Charissa’s help had made this possible, and Face would be grateful to her until the day he died. She was still living in DC, though she’d been down to visit them in Colorado a few times. Murdock and BA were still cool towards her but far more accepting after the passage of some time, and a lot of long late-night conversations, had let a little understanding grow between them all.

She was a Major now, working at the Pentagon, flying to meetings around the globe and leading a string of very successful teams. Face couldn’t be happier for her, watching with some measure of pride –all Charissa had ever wanted was her career, and she was doing incredibly well in her chosen line of work. Next stop Colonel Sosa, he always teased her whenever they spoke on the phone and, despite her laughter, he knew it was her next goal. And then perhaps even General, one day.

He smiled at the thought of that: General Sosa, barking orders to the minions beneath her. Her life was going exactly the way she wanted, the way she had always planned, and Face couldn’t help being a little jealous of that – his own life and the lives of his team had taken a sharp tangent, and they’d never be able to get back on that path. Instead, they had to carve out a new path, and they were getting there now, slowly but surely.

Face hadn’t tried to get a job himself, not yet. Not seriously, at least. There were options for him, he knew – he’d done enough research and talked to enough people in similar situations as himself to no longer feel his life was useless, just because he was in a wheelchair. But for now, no, he still didn’t feel ready to make that next move. Didn’t know if he ever would, if he was brutally honest with himself, but he was also honest enough to admit he was still waiting for Hannibal. Not to make the decisions for him, but just to be there, by his side. The man he still loved more than anything, the man he knew loved him back despite his shattered body. They’d make it all work, he knew. Together they could make anything work.

He checked his watch, growing increasingly impatient. Hannibal should have been released by now, but of course there were probably last minute delays, paperwork or meetings to be had. Hannibal had asked Face to wait out here, not wanting their first physical reunion in more than four years to be in the presence of prison wardens and guards. Face could understand that, longing to get his hands on his lover, but understanding didn’t make it any easier to be the one left waiting.

He’d driven himself to the prison, at least, a surprise for Hannibal. His new van, adapted so he could drive his chair right in through the back and lock it into place behind the steering wheel, with hand controls only so his useless legs weren’t an issue. BA, of course, had made some mechanical adjustments of his own, and Murdock had added some very creative paint touches, but it was Face’s pride and joy, his baby. It had given him back another level of independence, and it was the symbol of the life he knew was within his reach now, wherever he and Hannibal chose to settle.

They’d talked about it, a little, in the abstract rather than the specific. Whether they’d stay in Colorado or make a fresh start somewhere else, LA maybe, or somewhere new, all four of them. Face had decided he would find a job when they did settle down, but for now he’d been doing some volunteer work, visiting at the local hospital and a few retirement homes – the latter usually with BA’s company – and he’d very tentatively started going along to observe training sessions with a wheelchair basketball team after growing friendly with one of the team-members in an online forum. He wasn’t bored, and he was living rather than just surviving, but he knew he was still waiting, just like BA and Murdock, waiting for Hannibal to be freed.

Soon, now, Face thought with a smile, shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazed in the direction of the main entrance to the prison. Hannibal would be coming soon, very soon, and he felt his heart beat faster with anticipation. Daily phone calls, twice-weekly visits, letters and notes and everything else the prison had let them get away with, they could never be enough. He’d kept his lover in good supply of cigars and books, as well as other little luxuries, finding his old scamming skills were just as good without the use of his legs. Better, possibly, with the bonus effect of the sympathy he always saw in people’s eyes when they spotted him in his wheelchair. He hated that, in his everyday life, but when he was trying to get something for Hannibal, he could deal with it. For Hannibal, he knew he could deal with a lot of things. 

The heat was starting to build now as the clock ticked on towards noon, and a heat haze of sorts hovered in the mostly-empty parking lot. Face wanted to go find out what was happening, but instead he lifted his hands from his wheels, coasting to a stop facing the prison. Hard to see clearly from here, he should’ve got his sunglasses from the van, but then – was that…?

A tall figure, striding across the lot. Silver hair, distinctive in the bright sunshine, what looked like a bulky kitbag slung over one shoulder. Long stride, legs eating up the distance between them, carrying that person closer and closer.

Something approaching a laugh, or possibly a sob, was caught in Face’s throat, but suddenly he found himself moving, spinning the wheels of his chair as fast as he could as he raced across the tarmac towards his lover. Hannibal stopped for a moment, dropping that kitbag to land heavily on the ground, then he was moving fast too, running towards Face. With a few metres to go, Face lifted his hands from the wheels again and stretched his arms out, as Hannibal skidded to his knees, his own arms reaching for Face and practically snatching him into his embrace. 

No words needed, nothing but the presence of each other, and the longed-for security of each other’s embrace. Hannibal buried his head in Face’s shoulder, long arms wrapping around his body and pulling them close together, breathing hard. Face could feel his lover’s heart beating strong and firm against his own chest, squeezing his eyes closed and inhaling the scent of his man, all cigars and that wonderful, unique musk he’d missed so much, wrapping his own arms around Hannibal’s neck and hauling him even closer.

Hours later, or possibly only minutes, they pulled back at the same time until there were a few scant inches between their bodies, arms still wrapped around each other, Hannibal’s hips up hard between Face’s limp legs, eyes only for each other. A smile from Face, tears in Hannibal’s eyes despite his own smile, and they leaned back together, lips meeting in a gentle, perfect kiss. A kiss that held everything, from the passion they still felt for each other, to a promise that they would find a way through this together, a way into their new future. 

Blinking again in the bright sunlight, Face was the one to break the kiss, reaching up with one hand to caress his lover’s cheek, stroking up into that short silver hair he always loved to touch. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, as Hannibal leaned back into his hand. “Let me take you home.”

* * *

Home, at last. It didn’t matter that he’d never seen the house before, a big, sprawling old place, all on one level with a workshop at the bottom of the yard. It didn’t matter that, apart from his time in prison here, he’d never been to Colorado in his life. His boys were here, his lover was here, so that made it home for him too, and Hannibal had found he couldn’t stop smiling the whole afternoon.

Face had driven him here – that had been the most wonderful surprise, that his lover had his own adapted vehicle now – leaving that prison far behind them both, already a fading nightmare, and now it was as if the four of them had never been apart. BA and Murdock had a feast ready and waiting when Face and Hannibal arrived, and the celebrations had carried on long into the evening, all of them bantering back and forth. So much to catch up on, despite all their visits and long letters, but no rush to get through everything in one night. They had all the time in the world now. 

It was all so different from the last time the team had been together, all those years ago, before Decker’s little trap had split them apart for so long, shattering the lives they’d built for themselves.

Back then, they had been in a tiny safe-house, full of filthy furniture and in a terrible neighbourhood. Back then, their time had been spent planning and discussing, always looking over their shoulders for any sign of the military police, for any sign of Decker. Now, they were free men, all of them. This was the home his boys had made for themselves, and Hannibal thrilled to see all the different finishing touches that told him who lived here.

The workshop, of course, was BA’s territory. Immaculately clean, incredibly well-organised, and obviously very well used, with oil-stains on the floorboards and an old sports car in pieces in the centre of the room. The kitchen, meanwhile, was clearly Murdock’s, again immaculately clean but with little signs that showed that the crazy was still in their pilot. A jar labelled ‘flour’ that seemed to contain multi-coloured m&ms. Spaghetti arranged carefully in a vase on the windowsill, a spatula for the centrepiece. 

In every room, there were little things that showed this house was more than just another safe house. Framed photos of the team on the walls, photos of BA’s family, of Mama B. A few photos of Sosa, one clearly at her most recent promotion ceremony – Hannibal knew she had made Major at last, knew Face had been there for her that day, knew also that she had kept her distance from the whole team, staying in contact with Face alone, even though she had also spoken to Hannibal on the phone a few times over the years. Older photos too, of all four of them back when they were in the Rangers, and Hannibal thought the team must have called in some favours to get copies of those, since their own copies had long since been lost in the chaos of life on the run. A photo of him and Face, taken that last summer before the accident, wrapped in each other’s arms and smiling happily into the camera.

They would be able to make many more memories now, Hannibal mused, all four of them. He and Face, especially, after so much trauma, Face’s accident and his own time in prison. To his delight and relief, Face was still Face, and the wheelchair made no real difference aside from the practicalities. After the first few minutes spent marvelling at how easily his lover managed to get around, he’d practically forgotten it was there. Everything in the house was at a level Face could reach, kitchen worktops slightly lower than average, and the whole place was tidy and well-organised, keeping space free for Face to pass in his chair. 

Hannibal had laughed when his lover had started clearing the kitchen table at one point, a tray piled high with dirty plates in his lap, and Murdock had started flicking water at his friend from where he stood doing the dishes. Soon, it had turned into a full-on water fight, the pair of them slapping each other and sloshing water everywhere, and BA had eventually wrapped his arms around Murdock to haul him away from the sink when a laughing Face had threatened to go get the hose from the yard. His three boys were just the same as always, bantering away, their bonds so strong and clear after everything they’d been through these last few years, and the day had been an absolute joy. It was only now, as evening turned to night, that Hannibal found himself suddenly unsure of his place in this new world.

Murdock and BA had slipped away earlier, Murdock to the library to study for a test, and BA for a date, Face offering him some particularly graphic sex tips which made the dark man blush, and even Hannibal had felt his own cheeks heat up. Face was still Face, alright, but at the same time, he wasn’t, and now Hannibal paused in the doorway to his lover’s bedroom, completely at a loss.

“John?” Face had spotted his hesitation, of course he had, and turned from the side of the bed where he had been rummaging in a drawer. “You okay, love? Long day, huh?”

“Yeah, kid.” Hannibal forced a smile, folded his arms over his chest, knowing it would look defensive but unable to stop himself. “Long day, but good day.”

A tired but genuine smile on his lover’s face. “I can hardly believe you’re here,” Face whispered as he wheeled back around the bed to stop directly in front of Hannibal. “It’s all over now, and we have our lives back. New lives. Together.”

Hannibal’s kitbag from the prison was resting up against the far wall. In here, as in every room in the house, the furniture was well-spaced for Face’s wheelchair, and the door to the ensuite stood slightly ajar, a glimpse of a spacious wet-room just visible. The bed was huge, piled high with pillows, and it looked like heaven to Hannibal’s exhausted body, but still he paused. “Face, baby… I don’t know what…”

“Oh.” Face sat back in his chair, a sudden frown on his handsome features. “I didn’t even think, Hannibal, I just put your bag in here. I mean, there’s a guest room, if you’d rather. I’d understand, you know, it’s been nearly five years since we – ”

“No, sweetheart. God, no, that’s not…” Hannibal dropped to one knee, reaching forwards to rest his hands on Face’s shoulders and stop him from moving away backwards. “I didn’t mean it like that, of course I want to be here with you, there’s nothing I want more. I love you so much, and I’ve dreamed about this night for so long. But…”

“What is it, John?” Face’s frown turned curious now, head tilted to one side slightly. “You can tell me. We have to be honest, or this is never gonna work.”

Hannibal swallowed hard, staring deep into those bright blue eyes he loved so very much, eyes that looked just as uncertain as he felt at that very moment. He never wanted to make Face doubt himself, never wanted to make his boy feel anything less than perfect and beautiful, never wanted to make him feel like a burden. 

“I just… I don’t want to hurt you, Temp,” he murmured eventually. “Not physically, and not emotionally. I want to help you, but I know you can do things on your own. I want to touch you, but I don’t want to cause you any pain.”

A tiny, sweet smile on Face’s lips, and he leaned forwards, tilting his chin up in an obvious request, Hannibal leaning in to meet him with a gentle kiss. “Oh John,” Face sighed, still smiling as they broke apart. “I hate to break it to you, but you probably will hurt me at some point. I know it will never be deliberate, though, and that’s all that matters.”

“Then how…?” The thought of causing his lover pain of any sort was absolutely abhorrent to Hannibal, but the thought of sleeping in the guest room was far worse.

“Trial and error,” Face stated with a soft laugh. “We’ll just give it a go and see how we get on, if you want to, I mean. If I need help, I promise I’ll ask, but don’t let that stop you offering. And as for the physical side of things…” Two strong hands twined around the back of his head, hauling him back into a far more passionate kiss, and Hannibal suddenly had to brace his hands on the arms of his boy’s wheelchair to stop himself falling forwards as Face deepened the kiss effortlessly, tongue teasing along Hannibal’s lips until he opened his mouth and tasted his lover properly.

Jeans already a little uncomfortable, Hannibal eventually broke the kiss, his old knees starting to complain. “Trial and error, huh?” he gasped as he pushed to his feet, watched as Face pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk. “Well, that part still works, obviously!”

“Kissing?” Face turned his chair and headed back to the side of the bed, pausing to strip his t-shirt off as he went, tossing it with the perfect aim of a skilled sniper into the laundry bin by the door. “That definitely still works. And I’ve been doing some research…”

“Research?” Hannibal’s own shirt was off now, and he followed Face’s lead to place it carefully out of the way, rather than dropping it to the floor as he wanted.

“Mmm hmm…” Face drawled, still with his back to Hannibal, flexing his arms and shoulders in a display of lean, toned muscles. So different than the bulky muscle he used to have, but still perfect in every way, and Hannibal quickly shucked his jeans too as Face threw a flirty little glance over his shoulder. “Research. And I’ve rather been looking forward to putting some of this research into practice. Experimenting.”

That low tone of voice went straight to Hannibal’s groin, just as it always had, and again it was as if they had never been apart. “You’re a tease, boy,” he growled playfully. “But you’re my tease.”

“Always.” With that single word, Face’s voice was suddenly quieter, his eyes softer in the low bedroom light. “I’m yours, always, John.”

“And I’m yours, sweetheart.” For a moment they just looked at each other, Face turning round again until he was facing Hannibal, both of them breathing hard. So long, they’d waited. 

Face was the one to blink first, shifting in his chair and clearly about to swing himself out onto the bed. “It’s late,” he told Hannibal softly. “And it’s been a long day. Why don’t you get yourself ready for bed, and we’ll see how we go? You’re exhausted, and we’ve got all the time in the world to experiment. We don’t have to do anything tonight – just be with me.”

Despite those quiet words, neither of them wanted to be apart for too long after that wonderful kiss, and within five minutes Hannibal had finished in the bathroom and was naked on his back beneath the sheets, Face equally naked beside him, their heads resting on the pillows as they simply stared and smiled at each other all over again. Each of them unable to believe the other was really there, that they were really back together once more, where they belonged.

But Hannibal was still nervous, still worried about causing his lover pain. Back in that motel room, those blessed few hours they’d had together before he’d been back in custody, there hadn’t been time for anything more than a little kissing and a little cuddling, though that had already been more than he’d ever thought he’d have again at that point in time. Thinking Face had died, then finding out his beloved boy was alive after all, only to find he would spend the rest of his life paralysed… Those few snatched hours together had been a miracle, holding his lover in his arms once more. But now, he was almost afraid to touch, though he wanted to. God, how he wanted to…

Face, it seemed, read him like a book, just as he always had done. His observant, clever lover always knew just what he was thinking, always knew just what to do at moments like these. A warm hand brushed over his chest, teasing first one nipple then the other, and Hannibal gasped softly into the silence of the room. “Relax, John,” his boy whispered, a beautiful smile on his lips. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

Shifting up onto one hip, Hannibal dared to close the distance between them and kissed Face with all the love he had, relishing that familiar little whimper from deep in his boy’s throat as that stroking hand splayed flat across his chest, moving lower to stroke across his stomach, even as he moved his own hand up to tangle into his lover’s wonderfully soft curls. As the kiss grew, so did Hannibal’s already-present erection, and Face’s wandering hand soon slipped even lower, wrapping around his length with a skilled grip that wrung a sharp cry out from Hannibal, breaking the kiss apart.

“There you are,” murmured Face, hot hand giving a little squeeze that dragged another cry from Hannibal as he bucked into that perfect grip, pushing up on one elbow to hover over his boy, keeping that one hand buried tight into all that curly hair as he pressed his body close, swinging one leg up and over Face’s hips. “There’s my man.”

“But, Face… You aren’t… Oh.” In this new position, pressed against his lover’s side, Hannibal could feel Face wasn’t at all hard. Stupid, he cursed to himself, knowing he should have thought of that. Nothing from the waist down, of course, no feeling, no movement. Knowing what his boy must be thinking, knowing how he must have worried about this. How could they possibly – ?

“Hey, stop thinking, John. Stop worrying.” With one last squeeze, Face removed his hand and reached up to seize Hannibal’s free hand, guiding him down until their hands brushed his own soft cock. “This may not work so good, but this – ” Face moved their hands again, further down, behind silky balls, an adorable blush just visible on his face and cheeks as he continued quietly, “ – This still works fine, and it’s all yours.”

“Research, right?” Hannibal managed to say, his exhausted yet incredibly turned-on brain trying to figure out the possibilities, as their fingers brushed over Face’s most private space. Did it matter if Face couldn’t get an erection? Could they still…? 

“Yeah.” Face craned his head up again, suddenly in need of reassurance, and Hannibal gladly dived back into their kiss, getting the idea now. Understanding what Face was trying to tell him. Love was still love; anything physical was a bonus, after being apart for so long. The sex wasn’t important, never had been. “We don’t have to do everything tonight,” Face eventually gasped, when Hannibal dropped his head lower to kiss and bite at that perfect, long neck. “No rush, lots of time and all that.”

“The rest of our lives, sweetheart.” Slipping his hand free of Face’s loose grip, Hannibal stroked up his boy’s abdomen until he was just near Face’s navel, feeling rather than hearing the sharp intake of breath as he found the space where sensation started for his lover. Teasing his fingers in gentle circles across that flat stomach, he fell back to kissing Face’s neck, then his collarbone, groaning into the room as a hot hand wrapped back around his aching erection, bucking automatically into that firm grip. 

Time melted away as they lay together, Hannibal with one hand buried in Face’s hair, the other stroking over sensitive stomach and responsive nipples, kissing and licking and sucking every inch of his darling boy’s skin even as he bucked into that talented hand that stroked him so perfectly, the mixture of technique and pressure that only Face had ever perfected. Face’s free hand was everywhere and nowhere all at once, stroking his hair one moment then scratching his back, short nails raising goose-bumps on Hannibal’s skin as they moved together beneath the sheets.

Sooner than he would have hoped – it had been a long four years with only himself for company, after all – Hannibal felt that coil of heat growing deep in his belly, knew his climax was near, and couldn’t help himself as he bucked even harder against his boy, his own wandering hand growing firmer as he stroked his lover’s chest. “Oh, Face, I’m… Oh…” he tried to warn his lover, but Face just wrapped that free arm around his back, hauling him down to rest fully on that slender yet toned chest Hannibal loved already, pinning Hannibal’s hand between them.

“Let it go, baby,” was whispered in his ear, even as Hannibal felt his world start to shake apart. “I’ve got you…”

Every muscle locked up and every nerve was on fire as Hannibal’s orgasm ripped through him and ripped him apart, leaving him a quivering wreck as he spilled himself between their bodies. Dimly, he was aware of Face shaking beneath him, strong arms locked tight around his body, but couldn’t move to roll away, even if he’d wanted to. When he finally gained some semblance of control over his muscles, he managed to push himself back up on one arm, taking his weight off Face’s body, only to see…

Face was quivering too, chest rising and falling rapidly as his body shook, a look of sheer bliss on his features and eyes closed tightly. An expression Hannibal knew well, recognised even as little aftershocks shivered through his own body. He dared to lean closer again, pressing a soft kiss to trembling lips, and Face smiled, blinking his eyes open, pupils blown fully to black.

“Are you okay?” Hannibal asked, unsure what happened. “Did you just – ?” 

“Yes, and I have no idea…” Even Face’s voice was shaky, but there was no pain in his expression as he reached for Hannibal, pulling the former colonel down to his side. Hannibal went willingly, pressing as close as he could, wincing to feel the sticky mess he’d have to clean up sooner rather than later. “Whatever that was, it was good.”

“Good…” Hannibal shook his head a little where he had rested his chin on Face’s shoulder. “That was fuckin’ incredible, sweetheart.”

A giggle from Face as Hannibal shifted again, slightly, wrapping his arms around his lover’s chest and snuggling as close as he dared. “Not bad for a first time, huh?” Face breathed softly.

And it was a first time, of sorts, Hannibal realised with a jolt. More than just the physical differences, it was their first time together as free men, their first time together in this new house. “Plenty more firsts to come, Temp, I promise,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to Face’s cheek, still breathing a little hard. “I’m never leaving you again, ever.”

“You’d better not!” Face’s eyes had slipped closed already, his smile exhausted yet happy, and Hannibal just watched for a long moment even as his own eyes started to grow heavy.

Convinced Face had already fallen asleep, that curly head falling sideways slightly into the pillows, Hannibal whispered into the quiet of the room, “I love you so much, Templeton Peck.”

“Love you too, John Smith,” came the mumbled reply, and Hannibal carefully arranged himself so he wasn’t leaning too heavily on his precious boy before closing his own eyes and letting sleep start to drag him under. Cleaning up could wait. Everything could wait. The whole damn world could wait, as far as he was concerned – the only thing of any importance now was this incredible man, and this miraculous second chance they’d been given.

Was it even a second chance still, Hannibal wondered sleepily, or were they on their third or fourth chance? Whatever life threw at them, they always found their way back to each other, and this time their lives were finally their own and they could make their own decisions. No more going wherever the Army ordered them to. No more running at the first sight of police. No more prisons or hospitals, hopefully, no more time apart, never again. Their lives had been shattered over and over, and each time they had managed to put the pieces back together again, stronger than they had been before.

It wouldn’t be easy, Hannibal knew that much. There would be difficult times ahead, perhaps, for himself as much as for Face, trying to adjust to life in the real world after years spent behind bars. But he fell asleep confident they would find a way to make it all work. Together, they would find a way. Together, nothing could stop them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Starting To Put The Pieces Back Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114470) by [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books)




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